Beautiful Poison
by Random1377
Summary: A deal is struck between the Boy Who Lived and a member of the most untrusted house in Hogwarts... can anything good come of such an arrangement?  HarryPansy.  Complete.
1. Blindside

Disclaimer: my name is not J.K. Rowling. This means I do not own the characters, spells, locations – heck, anything in this story. This is a purely not-for-profit piece of fan fiction, and should Mrs. Rowling, or any of her associates, request it, I will remove this story from the web. Thank you.

Beautiful Poison

By Random1377

Chapter 1 – Blindside

Harry Potter exited the great hall feeling better than he had in months. The long, dull summer was behind him, and miraculously there had been no sign of Lord Voldemort. _Plenty of time for practice,_ he thought to himself optimistically, _yeah, ok, so I couldn't actually DO any of the charms, but I could practice the movements._

He frowned, remembering that the practice sessions had involved his tenth birthday present – the unwound coat hanger the Dursleys had given him.

"Better than nothing, I suppose," he mused to himself, waving as he caught sight of his friend Ron Weasley, just rounding the corner and heading towards the bathrooms. "Oi, Ron!" he called, starting to wave. "Over he-"

"Potter."

At the cold, soft whisper behind him, Harry froze, his hand flying instinctively to his wand.

"There's no need for that, Potter," the voice (_woman's voice,_ Harry's mind corrected) said coolly, "especially not with me behind you."

Harry eased his hand away from his robe pocket, noticing suddenly just how few people were in the great hall. _With everyone at the feast,_ he told himself angrily, _why WOULD there be anyone out here? Perfect… the perfect time for an ambush…_

"Turn around, won't you?" came a calm instruction, "I do so dislike talking to your backside."

Slowly, Harry did as he was told, cursing himself for being so careless – and on his very first day back, too! He wondered just how fast he could get to his wand… but he knew that unless he was faster than a spell, he had no chance.

He blinked, however, as he found himself face to face with a sixth year Slytherin he recognized quite well. "Parkinson?"

The girl did indeed look like Pansy Parkinson, one of Draco Malfoy's cronies, but her defining features – a hard face and an unpleasantly upturned pug-like nose – had been softened slightly. Harry knew that well-to-do wizarding families, like well-to-do muggle families, often made a gift of cosmetic surgery. Even Harry's friend, Hermoine Granger, had partaken in some slightly underhanded rearranging of her teeth, following an incident with an enlarging curse Draco had cast upon her, so the mild alterations to Pansy's face took a little getting used to, but were not entirely unusual.

"Well," the girl drawled after letting him study her for a moment, "at least I don't have to waste time introducing myself – and before you ask, yes, it was a present for my 17th birthday." She stayed where she was, the tip of her wand – a slender, pale rowan wood staff of eight inches – barely visible against her dark robs, leaning against her left arm as casually as she herself leaned against the wall just outside the doorway to the great hall. "Got a minute, Potter?" she asked, her face twisting into an unpleasant parody of a smile.

"Don't suppose I have much of a choice, do I?" Harry growled, raising his hands to show that he wasn't going for his wand.

Pansy nodded, lowering her arms to her sides, but showing that her wand was still at the ready. "In here, then," she said briskly, nodding to one of the doors just off the hall. "Come on, Potter, step lively."

Scowling openly, Harry led the way into the room, not quite wincing as it snapped closed behind him, plunging them into darkness. _Now's my chance._

His hand shot into his robs, but before he could bring his wand out, Pansy whispered, "_Lumos__ petite_." Her eyes met his in the dim light coming from the tip of her wand, and Harry could see that she was grinning. "I thought Slytherins were supposed to be the ones willing to do anything to win?" she chided, showing all of her teeth. "Best put it away, Potter, or I'll have to tell everyone that you tried to attack me."

_Like anyone would believe YOU!_ Harry's thoughts screamed. But in the back of his mind, he could see the face of his Potions teacher, Professor Snape, leering over his desk and murmuring, 'I've heard the most unsettling report, Mister Potter… you haven't unpacked yet, have you?'

"Better," Pansy murmured in satisfaction, nodding as Harry's wand disappeared into his robes once more.

With a look of disgust, Harry put his hands defiantly out to his sides – as if offering her a bigger target. "Get on with it then," he dared, meeting her steely blue eyes dead on.

Pansy returned his sneer, clearly considering hitting him with a truly dreadful curse… but instead of raising her wand, she lowered it and cleared her throat. "You… got an 'Outstanding' on your Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L.," she said calmly, "Millicent told me… is it true?"

"That's right," Harry said waspishly, wondering if she was going to say 'let's see you defend yourself without a wand!' or something of the kind.

Instead, the girl's confident smile wavered slightly. "She also said… that you taught some of the other students last semester. Did you?"

Now slightly confused, Harry replied, "Yeah… but I'm not saying who." He grinned, rather nastily, "You'll just have to find out for yourself."

"I couldn't care less," Pansy snorted, shaking her head for emphasis. "But you _can_ teach other people…"

"Yeah," Harry said slowly, wondering where all of this was going.

Taking a very deep breath, Pansy slowly lowered her wand further, plunging her face into shadow as she whispered, "Can you… teach me?"

Harry opened his mouth to say 'what?' but instead found himself blurting, "Why should I?"

Looking disgusted with herself, Pansy retorted, "Because I got a T on the test, alright? I… need to have better grades, Potter – it's simply not an option for me to fail."

"Should've studied harder then," Harry quipped, feeling an enormous sense of satisfaction at the girl's failure. After all, any loss for Slytherin was a win for Gryffindor, as far as he was concerned.

Pansy's face twisted into a sour grimace. "I knew you'd be this way," she hissed, "it's like everyone says – famous Harry Potter can't be bothered with _normal_ students." She looked him up and down, ignoring his look of incredulity. "Well, I wasn't expecting you to do it for nothing," she grumbled, "so… so if you help me… I'll help you with your Potions – I got an Outstanding from that one."

"No thanks," Harry said immediately, trying to forget her comment about him not wanting to help anyone. "I can do fine on my own."

As he moved to step around her, Pansy murmured, "Snape gave me a sneak peek at the syllabus – he's rather fond of me, you know. Our final is the Elixir of Osiris." She allowed this news to settle in for a moment before needlessly clarifying, "It's more complicated than the PolyJuice potion, Potter, do you really think you're going to be able to do it alone? Oh…and something else I forgot to mention." Her eyes were shining as he turned to regard her. "We need to gather our own ingredients for this one."

Harry's jaw dropped open. "You're… you're lying," he grumbled, "trying to make me look stupid – Snape would never make us try to get Heart-"

"Wouldn't he?" Pansy cut in gleefully, bringing her wand up to illuminate her face. "Look me in the eyes, Potter… do I look like I'm lying?"

_So,_ Harry thought grimly, _we have to make one of the deadliest potions known to wizardkind – and gather all the ingredients ourselves? No… I don't think she's lying at all; it's exactly the kind of thing Snape would assign as a final._

After a moment of quiet he whispered, "So you'll scratch my back if I'll scratch yours."

Pansy nodded, smiling triumphantly as she sensed the defeat in his voice. "That's right, Potter," she confirmed, "only it won't be your back I'll be scratching when we gather the potion's ingredients – you know what Heartblood is, right?"

Rolling his eyes in irritation, Harry muttered, "I'm not ENTIRELY useless, you know."

"Good," Pansy replied, her voice growing serious as she stuck out her hand. "We have a deal then. Dark Arts for Potions."

Feeling that he was somehow selling his soul, but knowing that even Hermoine's grasp of potions was not quite to Outstanding levels, Harry reached out and seized her hand – and immediately, a shock ran up his arm, making his teeth snap together as he let out a cry of pain.

"Wha?"

"A little insurance," Pansy said, her smile returning as he snatched his hand away. "I learned it over summer break."

Harry rubbed his throbbing hand, feeling the faintest outlines of a snake rising on his palm before fading away. "Take it off," he demanded. "Whatever it is, take it off right now!"

Pansy shook her head. "No," she said flatly, pursing her lips as Harry's hand itched towards his wand. "Oh would you relax," she snapped, "it's just a binding charm."

Scowling, Harry recalled a similar charm Hermoine had used over the last semester to jinx the roll list for Dumbledore's Army. The girl who had broken the charm had ended up with horrible acne across her face, spelling out the word 'sneak,' and no one – to his knowledge – had ever figured out how to remove it

Somehow, though, he surmised that the penalty for breaking Pansy's charm would not be quite that benign.

As if reading his thoughts, the girl added, "Don't worry, it won't kill you, Potter… but I strongly recommend sticking to your end of the deal." Her smile widened. "I really do prefer you looking this way."

"Thanks," Harry muttered acidly.

Still grinning, Pansy extinguished the light from her wand and pushed the door open. "After you, Potter," she murmured, "pleasant dreams."

Throwing her a withering look, Harry stormed out of the room, her high, cruel laughter following him all the way to his bedroom.

Continued… maybe

Author's notes: this is a tendril fic – a brief incursion into an untested fandom to see how the concept is received. If people like it, there might be more. If they don't, well, this is all there'll ever be. I almost never ask if a story should be continued or not, but I'm so 'on the fence' on this one that I just can't make up my mind. It's been sitting, barely worked on, on my USB drive for almost a year. Enthusiasm is contagious. If anyone likes this story, let me know. If it sucks – for Heaven's sake, clue me in! Thanks.

No pre-reader was used on this tendril.

Feedback is definitely welcome on any site with reviewing capabilities, or by e-mailing me directly at random1377(at-sign)yahoo(dot)com.


	2. Strange Bedfellows

Disclaimer: see part 1.

Beautiful Poison

By Random1377

Chapter 2 – Strange Bedfellows

Harry scrubbed his free hand through his unruly hair, waiting impatiently for Hermoine's reply. He had decided to tell the witch of his 'little problem,' as he liked to look at it, because he trusted her not to tell Ron. Ron, he was sure, would lose his mind. He hated Slytherins with a passion that was almost unhealthy – a dislike fueled, no doubt, by Malfoy's constant taunting and cajoling of Ron's entire family tree.

One day, Harry was sure, their argument would come to serious blows… and someone was likely to get very hurt. He did not really mind if that someone was Malfoy, of course, but Ron was his friend.

"Well," Hermoine said finally, "you did the right thing in telling me."

"So you can take it off?" Harry asked hopefully.

"Don't be ridiculous," Hermoine mumbled, not looking up from Harry's hand, "only the person that cast it can take it off – or a very, very skilled wizard. Dumbledore might be able to do it… but I don't think it would be a good idea to bother him."

Harry thought of the events of the previous semester, closing his eyes and letting out a tired sigh as he thought of Sirius. "Yeah," he whispered, "probably not."

Hemoine pursed her lips. "I hate to say it," she said, releasing Harry's hand and leaning back in her chair, "but it's a pretty well-crafted curse. I had to put it on paper, myself… being able to have it resting in your skin is pretty advanced. Don't take this the wrong way, Harry, but as skilled as she is with this, she shouldn't have trouble learning anything – especially anything related to dark arts. She must have an ulterior motive."

"I know that," Harry said with mild annoyance, "I'm not entirely daft, you know."

"Mm… sometimes I wonder."

"What was that?"

"Harry," Hermoine said earnestly, "my mother says the best way to learn something is to teach others… so you doing this _will_ be beneficial, especially if Pansy keeps up her end of the deal and teaches you potions…"

"But?" Harry promoted, sensing that the witch had more to say.

"But watch her," the young girl said softly, "never forget what house she's in, Harry. My guess is that she'll try to get close to you, and pretend that she's just the same as any other girl in Hogwarts. Don't fall for it."

Harry rubbed his temples. "I know, I know," he said tiredly, "alright, so… teach her?"

Shrugging, Hermoine picked up a thick textbook. "You _did_ make a deal, Harry," she said simply. "From what you've told me, she didn't threaten to hurt you if you said no, did she?"

"Well, no…"

"Then you had every opportunity to refuse… right?"

"…right."

There was a long silence, broken when Hermoine finally whispered, "Then yes, you teach her – you teach her and you show her what our house is all about, Harry. She tricked you by putting a binding curse on you, so you show her that you're the better person by upholding your end of the deal." Abruptly, Hermoine winked. "And if she _does_ try anything shifty, you just tell me and I'll find a way to break that curse."

Harry shifted in his seat, uneasy with the gleam in Hermoine's eye. "I thought you said you couldn't lift it," he said nervously.

"I can't," Hermoine said simply, "but if it comes to it… I'm sure I can learn. It wouldn't be easy, Harry, that's why I can't do it now…but after mid-terms, or finals? When I don't have anything else on my mind? …I know I could find a way."

Somehow, Harry got the feeling that Hermoine was hoping things would go bad. _What some people won't do for a challenge…_

Pretending that he did not believe his friend would want him in trouble just to test her abilities, Harry got to his feet. "I guess I should go," he said reluctantly, "I'm supposed to meet Pansy after her Divination class to arrange a schedule."

"She takes Divination?" Hermoine asked, wrinkling her nose in distaste, "On purpose? …that explains a lot."

Harry chuckled. "See ya."

"Harry."

"Hmm?"

"Remember what I said."

"I will."

Tipping Hermoine a salute, Harry strode off towards the tower where Divination was held. He disliked the class, personally, and had decided not to take it in his sixth year, but he knew from personal experience that the teacher, professor Trelawney, _did_ have 'the gift' as she liked to call it.

Two years prior, she had made a prediction that Lord Voldemort would return… she had proven to be right.

"And nothing for over half a year," Harry muttered to himself as he took the stairs two at a time. "What is he planning…?"

As he reached the top of the stairs, thoughts of The Dark One were forgotten as he found Pansy leaning up against the hard stone wall just to the left of the stairs. Her face was set in a mask of forced patience as she turned to face him.

"You're late."

Harry glanced at his watch. "No I'm not," he protested, "you said to come get you after Divination!"

Pansy ground her teeth. "I said come get me a few minutes before Divination _ends,_" she muttered, "let's find an empty room to talk – people are going to see us if we hang around here."

Frowning, Harry wondered, "So?"

"So," Pansy snapped, grabbing his upper arm and hustling him off down the hall, "people will ask questions… and I don't want to explain to a bunch of my friends why I'm hanging out with _you_."

Harry, who was used to being admired by most (when he was not being ostracized by everyone in the school as a loony or potential murderer, of course) muttered, "You Sytherins must really hate me."

"It's not just us," Pansy informed him bluntly, "and it's not 'hate' …well, not for all of us, anyway."

"What do you mean?" Harry wanted to know, frowning as she practically shoved him into an empty classroom.

To his knowledge, the other houses had no gripes with him – just Slytherin.

He was in for a rude awakening.

"A lot of people think you're a stuck-up, pompous, swaggering know-it-all," Pansy shrugged. "They say Harry Potter is too good to be friends with anyone outside of his own house – especially after you broke up with that Ravenclaw girl at Hogsm-"

"I didn't break up with Cho!" Harry cut in incredulously, "I wasn't even really dating her!"

Pansy smiled smugly. "Because she wasn't good enough?"

"No!" Harry snapped, feeling irritated. "With Cho… why am I explaining this to you? It's none of your business why we were or weren't together – but I did _not_ break up with her!"

"If you say so."

Now it was Harry's turn to grind his teeth. "Schedule," he bit out, "what's your schedule, and where should we meet?"

As Pansy reached into her robes to pull out her class schedule, Harry tried to calm down. _Who cares what other people think?_ he thought desperately, _No, wait – why am I believing her? Sure, I'll bet some people don't like me that much, especially after what happened with Cedric during the Triwizard Tournament… even though that wasn't really my fault – but I don't believe anyone HATES me! If they did, I'd know! Hermoine would tell me, or Ron would – or they'd tell me themselves! I-_

"Here," Pansy said finally, pulling out a scrap of paper and offering it to the boy. "Where's yours?"

"Memorized it already," Harry muttered, taking Pansy's schedule and noticing again how rough her hands felt.

Pansy frowned as she caught him glancing at her hand. "If you're that curious," she whispered coldly, "here – look all you like."

Harry blushed as she held her hands out, palms up, to reveal coarse, calloused skin, covered in a crisscross of old, silvery scars. "What, umm… what happened?" he asked softly, wondering why – if she was so good at potions – she had never bothered to use one on any of the shallow, but long scrapes on her hands.

"You live with Muggles, right?"

Taken off guard by this question, Harry said, "Well, yeah, but what does that have to do with anything?"

Pansy leaned against an old, oak bookcase, folding her arms over her chest – a stance, Harry realized suddenly, he had seen her in many times before… a stance that easily hid the palms of her hands. "You're not allowed to use magic when Muggles are around, right?"

"No," Harry confirmed, wondering where all this was going.

Slowly, Pansy thrust her hands out at him again. "In my family," she said flatly, "we are not allowed to use magic until we get accepted into school, so we are made to do everything by hand – housework, fieldwork, homework… any work. You would be surprised how many chores a parent can think up for an idle child, Potter, and it would probably stun you to learn the punishment for a bad grade or a spilled bucket of water."

Harry looked again at the crisscross scars, then quickly turned his head. "I never had parents," he pointed out, "I-"

"Count yourself lucky," Pansy cut in coolly. "Everyone knows your past, Potter – don't try to trump my pain with yours, because you wouldn't last one day in my house… not one, single day."

Bowing his head over the class schedule, Harry whispered, "So, umm… Thursday evenings look good…"

Frustrated that the boy had disengaged from the argument, Pansy lashed out, kicking the bookcase hard with the side of her foot and grimacing as pain shot up her leg. "Thursdays are fine," she hissed, refusing to rub her injury and show the Boy Who Lived any sign of weakness, "how about Tuesdays, too?"

"That's fine for me, as long as it's later in the day."

"So, night classes," Pansy mused. "I've got music lessons on Tuesdays, so it'll _have_ to be later – so that works out, I guess."

Harry looked around the room. "This place seems ok," he said thoughtfully, "though maybe someplace more secluded… I'll have to think about it. Hmm."

Pansy glanced at her watch. "Let's start now."

"Right now?"

"Yeah, I've got a few minutes – and a lot of this is going to have to be whenever we get time, you know… I doubt an hour here and there is really going to teach either of us anything, so we'll have to get as much time in as we can."

_Great,_ Harry thought dismally, handing Pansy her class schedule and reaching into his robes to pull out his wand, _as much time with a Slytherin as I can get? I can hardly wait._

Wisely, he bit his lip… but he shook himself as he suddenly realized that he was starting to get eager.

Teaching the others had been more exciting than he wanted to admit, so he was definitely ready to see if he could teach Pansy – more so because she was from another house and it would be a challenge to see if he could actually do it without one of them killing the other.

_I'm more like Hermoine than I thought,_ he mused, taking a step back from Pansy to give her more room. _And if Pansy can get me through Potions this term, I might not have to take it next year at all!_

Oh the bliss of having a Snape-free year!

"Alright," Harry said, gesturing for Pansy to pull out her wand, "why don't we start by finding out what you know so far?"

Pansy grinned… and with a flick of the wrist, her wand dropped into her palm. It was pointing at Harry before he could blink, and in a loud voice, Pansy cried, "_Expelliarmus_"

Harry tried to hold his wand, but it shot from his fingers before he could get a firm grip on it, tumbling end over end to land with a clatter at Pansy's feet.

"How's that?"

Gritting his teeth, Harry walked over and leaned down to scoop up his wand. "I really meant _tell_ me what you know," he grumbled.

"Teach me something," Pansy said impatiently, "if I already know it, I'll stop you – but I've got to get to my next class, so let's hurry up."

Harry sighed. "Fine," he murmured. "I learned this one over summer break." Taking a few steps back, he raised his wand. "Alright, I'm ready."

"Ready for what?" Pansy wondered. "Go ahead."

"It's a defense spell," Harry huffed, "attack me."

Pansy grinned… and thrust her hand forward, shouting, "_Flipendo__!"_

This time, Harry was prepared for the attack. Planting his feet, he called out, "_Defractous__!"_

The bolt of magic from Pansy's wand collided with an invisible wall several inches from Harry's chest, splitting into a handful of smaller bolts and splashing against the walls and bookcases behind him.

"Wicked…" Pansy breathed, her eyes wide as Harry glanced over his shoulder to see if anything was damaged. "Where did you learn that?"

"A friend of mine taught me," Harry half-lied.

Pansy, he reasoned, did not need to know that Ron's father – a member of the ministry of magic – had taken him aside to teach him a few more defensive maneuvers. The Slytherin girl would _definitely_ see this as special treatment.

"I want to know that one," Pansy declared, checking her watch, "Tomorrow's Tuesday, so let's meet here again at eight."

Harry was frowning as he looked over his shoulder, noticing that the defracted spell had knocked over several small desks and turned a floor lamp entirely upside down.

"Yeah, eight's ok," he said, shaking his head as he turned back to look at her, "but this room won't do – too many things could get broken."

"Ok," Pansy said, clearly irritated, "then where should we go? The main hall?"

Slowly, a smile spread across Harry's face. "No," he said carefully, "it has to be somewhere no one and nothing can be hurt…"

"Again, where?" Pansy demanded, starting to lose her patience.

"Meet me here at eight," Harry said briskly, "I have to see about something."

"You have an idea then?"

Harry nodded.

"Oh, I know just the place…"

Continued…

Author's notes: now, I've never claimed to be subtle, so I'm sure everyone knows where they're going. Why not just say it then, you ask? Come on, now – is that something Rowling would do? …yes, I know I'm no Rowling, but hey, if I could make one TENTH of what she does, I would gladly follow in her footsteps. Also, I did consult a web page to find the correct spellings for the jinxes and charms in this chapter (except the one I made up, o'course) but I can't give a direct link to the page due to QuickEdit's shortcomings. The closest I can come is to spell it out. It's www dot pojo dot com slash harrypotter slash spelist dot shtml. Great site.

This chapter was not pre-read.

Feedback is always welcome on any site with reviewing capabilities or by e-mailing me directly at random1377(at-sign)yahoo(dot)com.


	3. What Can be Learned from a Dead God

Disclaimer: see part 1.

Beautiful Poison

By Random1377

Chapter 3 – What Can be Learned from a Dead God

"Turn to page five hundred and sixty four."

Harry did as he was told, feigning a gasp to echo his classmates as they collectively read, 'Elixir of Osiris' at the head of the page.

"Professor," Hermione said, raising her hand to get his attention, "will this be our final?"

Hermione, of course, knew that it was – Harry had told her when he had outlined his bargain with Pansy – but she told him before class that they needed to seem surprised, or Snape would know that they had been informed beforehand… and Hermione was sure that he would know exactly who had spilled the beans. Not that she cared terribly much what happened to Pansy, of course, but she knew that if the Slytherin girl got in trouble, it would trickle down to Harry, and no matter what she thought of their little arrangement, she had made up her mind to support Harry in any way she could.

That's what friends did, after all.

"It will," Snape said coolly. "I would ask you to tell me the specifics of this particular poison Miss Granger… but I don't really want to hear your bragging today, so… Potter – please enlighten us as to the nature of the Elixir of Osiris. Come, come," he said impatiently as Harry scanned the page, "you _did_ have the foresight to read ahead this time, didn't you, Potter?"

Gritting his teeth, Harry cast a discrete, sidelong glance at Pansy, reassured as the girl continued staring straight ahead, but nodded, once, barely inclining her chin as her lips compressed into a thin line – an expression anyone with half a mind could read as saying, 'Hurry up, idiot!'

Harry cleared his throat.

"The Elixir of Osiris is the third most potent poison in recorded history, second only to Life's Bane and Usagi's Tears," he said clearly. "There is only one known antidote – ground unicorn horn steeped in harpy's blood – but since the elixir is fatal within fifteen seconds of application, internal or external, and harpy's blood coagulates within eight seconds of exposure to air, there are less than a handful of known survivors to this kind of poison… sir."

During Harry's dissertation, Snape's expression had grown increasingly sour. "Thank you for that… adequate description, Mister Potter," he said coldly, clearly disappointed that he did not have an excuse to deduct house points from Gryffindor. "And who can tell me the error in Mister Potter's soliloquy? Yes, Parkinson?"

"Harpy's blood is viable for twenty seconds," Pansy's voice – dripping with derision – announced, making Harry's cheeks burn. "The reason most victims of Elixir of Osiris die is that they don't have the ingredients on hand. Now I don't know about Gryffindor's seeker," she added dryly, "but when I'm out shopping, I don't carry vials of harpy's blood with me."

Harry was absolutely crimson as a smattering of giggles rose up from the Slytherins scattered around the classroom, though some of the edge was taken off his embarrassment when Ron muttered, "You wouldn't need to carry it in a vial… it's in your veins."

"An excellent point, Miss Parkinson," Snape said approvingly, thankfully missing Ron's dry comment, "and can you tell me why we are starting this project so early in the term?"

"Yes sir," Pansy said briskly, "a cauldron of Elixir of Osiris must be simmered for three months before adding the final ingredient, yielding less than an ounce of usable poison for several gallons of ingredients. Furthermore, an ounce of the elixir is only enough for one victim, and precise measurement is key, rendering it an impractical assassination tool due to the length of time and effort required for a single…" she trailed off, clearing her throat as she realized that every eye in the room was on her.

"Five points to Slytherin," Snape announced, casting a thin, satisfied smile at Harry and Hermione. "Now you see, Miss Granger – some students know when they've said enough."

Hermione nodded and turned her attention back to her book, though from where Harry was sitting, he could easily see that the muscles in her jaw were clenched tight enough to crack a tooth.

Sighing, the Boy who Lived pulled out a quill and a blank piece of parchment, preparing to take notes as Snape moved back to the front of the class and pulled out a long list of ingredients.

_It's going to be a long term…_

( 0 0 0 )

"Oi, what a pain!" Ron complained as they made their way out of the dungeon.

"He's just doing his job," Hermione pointed out, sounding unconvinced and unconvincing; "at least he answered a few questions this time."

Ron glowered. "I meant Parkinson!" he snapped. "What a know-it-all – she's even worse than-"

"Don't you dare," Hermione grumbled warningly.

"Sorry…"

Eager to change the subject, Ron turned to Harry.

"So who are you going to ask?"

"Hmm?" Harry hummed, looking up from where he had been staring down at his feet. "What's that?"

Ron rolled his eyes. "The Heartblood," he clarified, "who are you going to ask?"

"Dunno," Harry said evasively, glancing at Pansy as she brushed past him, "I'll find someone, I guess…"

"Osiris," Ron mused, seeing that this topic was not going anywhere, "wonder what he did…"

Hermione snorted. "Honestly," she said huffily, "do you read _anything_? Osiris was an Egyptian god – god of the underworld, specifically. He ruled over the dead after he was killed by his brother Set, and-"

"You're doing it again."

Harry chuckled as Hermione glowered at Ron… but his mirth faded as he spotted Cho Chang turning a corner up ahead. "Hermione," he said lightly, averting his eyes as the Ravenclaw seeker glanced his way, "can I ask you something?"

"Sure Harry," Hermione replied curiously, "what is it?"

Slowing his pace a bit, Harry hesitantly asked, "Do… have you heard anything about… people in other houses not liking me?"

Ron, it seemed, suddenly had somewhere else to be, as he muttered something about transfiguration notes and hurried off down the hallway. "Umm, well," Hermione said nervously, shooting a dark look at Ron's back for running off and avoiding the difficult topic, "I wouldn't say I've heard that anyone actually _hating_ you or anything, I, ummm…"

Harry's shoulders slumped. Hermione was never at a loss for words – unless it was something she did not want to say. "Tell me," he said softly, "please. Is it true?"

Sighing, Hermione whispered, "Yes, Harry, it's true – but that's just life. You can't have everyone like you…"

Harry nodded. "I know that," he said quietly, "but I just… I always kind of thought Slytherin was where all my enemies were, you know? I mean, I know Cho probably doesn't like me all that much – and some of… of Cedric's friends in Hufflepuff, but I thought… what, what is it?"

Hermione was shuffling her feet. "Harry," she said evenly, "now, you asked me to tell you this, so don't be shocked… but not everyone that dislikes you is in another house…"

Leaning against the wall, Harry rubbed tiredly at his eyes. "Who?" he wanted to know, "and why didn't you tell me? I thought everyone in Gryffindor was my friend – that's what they say when you're sorted… that your house is your family."

"Being family doesn't automatically mean you get along," Hermione pointed out softly, "and I didn't tell you because I… I kind of thought you had enough on your mind, Harry."

_Isn't that what Dumbledore said last term?_ Harry mused. _Yeah, when he was telling me why he didn't make me a prefect. I guess I should be grateful that people want to protect me – I just wish they'd ASK sometimes. I'd rather know who my enemies are than go along thinking everyone's my friend._

As if reading his mind, Hermione said, "There isn't a single member of Gryffindor that wouldn't stand up for you or help you with a problem, Harry. That's what it means to be in a house – we may not get along all the time, but when things get serious, your housemates will be there… believe in that, Harry."

Reluctantly, Harry smiled. "Thanks, Hermione," he said, "I'll try."

Shrugging awkwardly, Hermione averted her eyes. "You should get going, shouldn't you?" she asked levelly, "It's Thursday."

"Oh," Harry blurted, "thanks for reminding me! I'll see you in the great hall for dinner."

Hermione waved as the boy rushed off down the hall, narrowing her eyes as Pansy, who had been walking with a group of Slytherins, abruptly broke away from the crowd and casually strolled in the direction Harry had gone. "Watch your step, Parkinson," Hermione whispered to herself, shivering at the cool smile on Pansy's face, "I won't forgive you if you hurt my friend…"

( 0 0 0 )

Harry rested his hands on his knees, panting heavily as Pansy smirked down at him. "Winded so soon?" the Slytherin asked, cocking an eyebrow, "We've only just started."

Scowling, Harry wiped sweat off of his brow, noting – not for the first time – just how hot the Room of Requirement got in the late afternoon.

"We've been here two hours," he grumbled, "I wouldn't call that just starting. And I've been doing all the work!"

"Don't exaggerate," Pansy said coolly, "we talked potions for a while first."

"Five minutes!" Harry said angrily, "Then it was, 'show me this, show me that, how do I block this spell'!"

With a shrug, Pansy said, "You didn't have questions… I wasn't going to just prattle on and on about potion ingredients for an hour and a half."

"No," Harry muttered dryly, "but you have no problem making me defend myself for that long!"

Pansy examined her fingernails intently. "Could be worse," she said evenly, "I could just lie to you about how to make the elixir and watch you make a fool of yourself."

Showing all of his teeth, Harry said, "And how do I know that's not your plan anyway?"

This, it seemed, was the wrong thing to say. "Because I gave my word," Pansy said icily. "How do I know that you're not teaching me the wrong movements? I can't make a _patronus_ yet, so maybe you're the one tricking me!"

"You can't make one because you're not focusing on positive things," Harry growled through his teeth, "I told you, Dementors feed on fear and bad thoughts, so you have to make yourself think of something happy for the _patronus_ to appear!"

They glared at each other for several moments.

_I shouldn't have agreed to this,_ Harry thought angrily, _she can't BE taught, that's why she's doing so badly! And she hasn't really helped me all that much so far. Sure, she's taught me a couple shortcuts, but nothing major. I should just walk away._

Taking a deep breath, Pansy lowered her wand. "Did you know," she said calmly, "that Osiris was killed by his brother?"

"Yeah," Harry muttered, "I heard."

Pansy nodded as if this was no surprise. "Of course you would have," she murmured, "you hang out with Granger. Did you ever wonder why the elixir is named after him?"

At this, Harry hesitated. "Because he's the god of the underworld," he said quietly, suddenly wishing that Ron had not cut Hermione off so he could hear the rest of the story.

"That's what most people think," Pansy replied, "but the real reason was that the man who first concocted it… used it to kill his brother. Can you imagine what it must have been like to look at the face of your brother and know, in those last seconds, that this person you've trusted your entire life is your killer?"

"No," Harry said honesty, "I can't."

"I can."

"Er, that's-"

Abruptly, Pansy stepped closer to Harry, staring intently into his eyes as she whispered, "Trust is fragile… but if you give me yours, I swear I will never betray it. I need this grade, Potter, and I know you need to have your potions grade. I'm not your brother, I'm not your friend, and I'm not even in your house… but you must understand that it is imperative that I get a passing grade this term, so I will do everything in my power to help you get yours – on my honor." Wetting her lips hesitantly, she concluded, "If you trust nothing else, trust that you will be killing me by not helping me pass this class."

Harry coughed uncomfortably, shaken by the determination in the Slytherin girl's eyes. "I said I would do my best," he said softly, "and I am… but… but I have to believe that you are too…"

Pansy nodded gravely. "Alright," she said quietly, "next Tuesday, we'll talk potions for the whole time… fair?"

"Fair," Harry said, wondering if Hermione wasn't right about this all being an elaborate setup.

_Trust,_ he thought grimly, _trust a Slytherin… how can I?_

Staring into Pansy's eyes, he searched for a sign – any sign that she was being honest with him. Killing her by not helping her pass? What did that mean? She talked in riddles.

Ultimately, though, it was Hermione's voice that echoed in Harry's mind.

_"You did make a deal, Harry."_

Nodding to himself, Harry whispered, "Try the _patronus_ again…"

As Pansy lifted her wand and tried to concentrate, Harry took a deep breath, and decided that he would do his best to give her his trust – if for no other reason than to prove that he belonged in Gryffindor.

Continued…

Author's Notes: It's funny, but I've got all this material for later chapters all laid out nice and neat… I just have all this development to get there, so it's collecting virtual dust while I struggle to get from point A to point B in the story while still having it all cohesive.

Six String Samurai gave this chapter the once-over and declared it to be 'decent.' Man, my ego can't take much more of this…

Update note – it seems that in my haste to write, I misspelled Hermione's name… and since I haven't opened one of the books for a year or so, and no one pointed it out, I've been misspelling it all along. Imagine my embarrassment. I've corrected it on this chapter – 24 instances, thank you very much – since this is the only one I have on this computer, and I'll be going back to correct 1 and 2 as soon as I get the time. Thanks going out to aondehafka for bringing this oversight to my attention.

Second update: corrected the volume of poison needed to kill someone for believability.

Feedback is always welcome on any site with reviewing capabilities or by e-mailing me directly at random1377(at-sign)yahoo(dot)com.


	4. Liquid Time

Disclaimer: see part 1.

Beautiful Poison

By Random1377

Chapter 4 – Liquid Time

Harry blinked… and two months were gone. It was amazing, he thought as he headed out to quidditch practice, how easy it was to fall into a routine when no one was trying to kill you. He had made sure to maintain contact with the Order of the Phoenix to see how the unseen battle with Voldemort was going, but since his reappearance, and the fight in the Ministry of Magic, there had not been a peep.

Everyone in the Order was sure that the Dark Lord was quietly gathering his forces and waiting for an opportune moment to strike, but so far, they had not been able to ferret him out, a fact that made Tonks, at least, exceedingly annoyed.

_"It's like going to the dentist,"_ she had confided to Harry through the Floo system one rainy afternoon. _"You know it's coming, you know it's going to hurt, and after a while you just want him to get on with it… but then he makes you sit there in the waiting room and stew, helpless, until he feels like coming to get you."_

Harry's response fell somewhere along the lines of 'sounds like the story of my life,' which had earned him a deep chuckle from the currently-lavender haired woman, but it was very true. Harry was quite familiar with powerlessness, and he often wandered if the members of the Order deliberately kept him in the dark about what was really happening.

Tonks wouldn't, he did not think. For reasons he could not explain, Harry trusted Tonks.

_Maybe just a bit past trust?_ he thought as he made his way onto the quidditch pitch, his Firebolt slung casually over his shoulder. _She's pretty – even when she's not changing herself around. If she wasn't- _

"Potter," Katie Bell called, drawing him from his musings, "you're late!"

"Sorry," Harry called, "for a moment I thought it was last year and I was still banned."

Katie made a face. "Don't even joke," she grumbled, "Malfoy's been practicing, Potter… he actually got close to the Snitch last game – don't even joke about not being able to play, we need everyone at a hundred percent."

"Lay off, Bell," Ron said, swooping down to hover at Harry's side, "you're starting to sound like Wood."

Before Harry could warn Ron, Katie reached out and deftly clouted him in the side of the head, nearly knocking him off his broom. "At least Wood knew a bit about Keeping," she said darkly, "I've half a mind to see if anyone in Gryffindor would be interested in the position – and yes, that _is_ a threat!"

Grumbling that she wouldn't dare, Ron nonetheless zoomed off towards the goals, rubbing ruefully at his wounded temple.

Harry brought his broom around and mounted it, shaking his head as he searched for the Snitch, which Katie always released before his arrival, just to make things 'more interesting.'

"I'm not, am I?"

"Hmm?"

Harry glanced at Katie, finding her staring after Ron with a concerned look on her normally composed face. "I'm not… sounding like Wood… right?"

Grasping his broom, Harry murmured, "Sometimes… but you're never as bad as he was."

This seemed to relieve Katie. "Thanks, Potter."

Nodding, Harry shot into the air, smiling as he saw a hint of gold glittering on the edge of the field. _Better not catch it TOO fast,_ he mused, _Katie would just make me release it and find it again… I'll just keep track of it._

Circling the pitch as if he had no idea where the Snitch was, Harry found his thoughts turning to Pansy. She had advanced – painstakingly – in defense against the dark arts, but the new teacher, Professor Phoebus Septillion, was not very patient with her. He was a good teacher, and they actually LEARNED things in his class, but he had somewhat of a short temper, especially for Slytherins.

He was to Slytherin students, Hermione had pointed out one day, what Snape was to Gryffindor.

_She's probably in his class right now,_ Harry thought dismally, _which means that the next time we go to practice… she's going to be all bent out of… damn it!_

Glancing around, he heaved a huge sigh.

He had lost the Snitch.

( 0 0 0 )

As Harry was cursing himself for letting the Snitch out of his sight, Pansy was cradling her head in her hands and cursing HERself for ever even thinking she could get a passing grade in Septillion's class.

"No, no, no," the crusty old man was saying impatiently, "_Expacto__ PetroNUM!_ It's a _Patronus_ spell, but the incantation is _Petronum_ – it isn't that difficult!"

"I don't have that many happy thoughts, ok?" the girl exploded. "God, I hate this! Magic isn't supposed to be this hard!"

"Magic is what you make of it," Septillion said coolly, "now… again."

"Grr!"

"Danger to a person's wellbeing can often cloud that person's judgment, making them do things they would not do under normal circumstances," Septillion lectured. "My job is to make sure that you have the mental fortitude to keep your wits about you and ensure that you live to tell the tail."

Pansy barely refrained from mouthing this speech along with the old man. She knew it by heart.

It was one of his favorites, and he never deviated a single word or tone in its presentation.

"Now," Septillion said briskly, "A _Patronus_ if you please."

"Yes, sir," Pansy said through grinding teeth, raising her wand and pointing it up at the ceiling.

In the Room of Requirement, it was much easier to keep her cool. _Harry's just a better teacher,_ she thought, focusing on the smiling face of the Boy who Lived, _ten times better than this old codger._

_"Expacto PETRONUM!_"

Septillion smirked. "Progress," he said smugly, gesturing to the faint, silver haze in the air directly in front of Pansy's wand. "Be seated, Miss Parkinson."

"Y-yeah," Pansy stammered, staring at her wand with a small smile as she wandered over to her desk.

_Progress,_ she thought, _yeah, but not from you, dumbass._

In spite of this small victory, the rest of class passed in agonizing slowness, delivering Pansy into the hustle and bustle of late afternoon feeling as if she had been up all night. There was no getting around it – Septillion was a lousy, no good prick.

"Parkinson!"

…but at least he was better than McGonagall.

"Yes, professor?" Pansy replied as she was confronted by the Irishwoman in the main hall.

Professor McGonagall looked annoyed… but then again, she always looked annoyed when dealing with Slytherin students, so Pansy was not too put out. "Your Transfiguration homework is overdue," she said sharply, "and while I know mine is not your favorite class, I would assume that you still want a passing grade."

Pansy, as any of her friends could tell you, was a survivor… and a member of Slytherin House, as well, so she had developed somewhat of a knack for getting out of sticky situations.

Besides which, she had no problem manipulating people she felt were threatening her to get what she wanted.

"Oh that's right!" she groaned, turning on the charm as best she could, "I'm sorry professor – I was so busy helping Harry Potter with his potions that I completely-"

"Potter?" McGonagall cut in suspiciously, "You should know, Miss Parkinson, that I do not approve of lying."

Wielding the woman's disbelief like a scalpel, Pansy widened her eyes. "Please don't tell him I told you," she said breathlessly, "it was supposed to be a secret!"

McGonagall's nostril's flared. "Now why on Earth would Harry Potter need _your_ help, Parkinson? I'll admit he's not got the best Potions marks, but he's still a fine wizard. I'll give you one more chance to tell me the truth before I start lowering your grade – and taking points from Slytherin!"

Pansy sighed, going in for the coup de grace.

"I should have known you wouldn't believe me, professor," she said miserably. "Harry said you wouldn't – that's why it was such a big secret, because he said people wouldn't believe it if I told them, and if they did, they would think I was after something, and he didn't want things to be too hard for me." Running a hand through her hair, she averted her eyes. "He's a good person that way." Shifting from one foot to the other, she concluded, "I'll have the homework by the end of the day… please don't tell Harry I told you about our secret, ok? He'd be… disappointed in me…"

As she turned to go, McGonagall said, "Just a moment."

Pansy glanced over her shoulder. "Yes, professor?"

"You're good with potions you say," McGonagall said coolly, "do you know what Veritserium is?"

"Of course," Pansy said simply, "I've made it… and before you ask, yes, I would take some right this minute, if you'd like."

McGonagall reached into her pocket and took out a small vial, holding it out to Pansy without a sound. When the Slytherin shrugged and reached for it, McGonagall closed her hand around it and slipped it back into her robes. "I don't think that will be necessary," she said, eyeing Pansy consideringly over the edge of her glasses. "You really would have taken it."

It was not a question, but Pansy still nodded. "Of course," she said evenly, "I'm telling the truth."

_Just not all of it,_ she added, watching McGonagall's eyes as she considered her next move. _Sorry, Potter… I couldn't afford to have ANOTHER teacher breathing down my neck – and she won't tell anyone, except maybe you… and you can I deal with._

Keeping her smile in, she waited for the teacher to decide what to do with her.

"It wouldn't have done anything anyway," McGonagall said finally, patting her robe pocket as she gave Pansy a grim smile, "it's muggle nail polish I confiscated from a first year – dreadful smelling stuff… can't stand it."

Pansy risked a tentative smile. "I do have my homework up in my dorm," she said, calculating who she could copy notes from, and how fast, "I can go get it, if you'll let me."

McGonagall waved a hand. "I'll give you until the morning, Parkinson," she said, her tone all business as her smile faded away, "though I will be keeping my eye on you… and if I find that you've lied to me, there _will_ be repercussions."

"There won't be," Pansy said levelly.

The professor, Pansy thought, looked a little impressed… though it was now starting to be colored with suspicion as the mental question of 'what is she after' started to surface.

Before it could come to the fore, Pansy capitalized on the teacher's uncertainty.

"Is there anything else, professor? I'm going to be late for Divination."

"Er, no, no…" McGonagall said, "go ahead, Parkinson… and don't worry – your secret is safe with me."

"Thank you, professor."

Walking away, Pansy could no longer contain her triumphant smile.

_Well that went quite well,_ she thought, trying to decide if she should tell Harry about the encounter or not. Ultimately, she decided that he did not need to know. McGonagall would not say anything about it, and it would just make Harry jumpier than he needed to be.

Time was running out for Pansy to get a good grade… and she would be damned if she blew it all by making her 'teacher' too edgy to teach.

( 0 0 0 )

Harry yawned, slowly collapsing his telescope as the rest of the students made their way down from the astronomy tower. It was late, but there was a comet shower that night, so the teacher had made them stay to see it. It was very pretty, but Harry was tired from Quidditch practice.

Yawning a second time, he caught sight of Hedwig fluttering in for a landing on the stone parapet. "You must love this time of night," he said, holding out his arm for the owl to hop onto. "Who's this from, then?"

Taking the small note from Hedwig, Harry unrolled it to find Hagrid's familiar scrawl.

_Drop by fer tea sometime._

_Hagrid_

"That's a nice owl."

Harry jumped, wheeling around to find Pansy strolling over to him. "Oh, hey," he said, trying not to show how much she'd surprised him, "I didn't see you there."

"I know," Pansy drawled, "I had to wait until everyone else had gone before climbing up."

Frowning slightly, Harry said, "Is something wrong?"

"Nope," Pansy said impishly, "everything's great – I did it."

"Er… did what?"

"A _Patronus_" she said proudly, "right in front of Septillion, too!"

Harry found her glee infectious. "Well done!" he said happily. "How did it look?"

Shrugging, Pansy dropped her bookbag and looked up at the sky. "It wasn't spectacular," she said evenly, "barely there, really – but it got Septillion off my back. Thanks."

"I didn't do anything," Harry chuckled, stroking Hedwig's feathers.

"You taught me how," Pansy said simply, "don't be so modest."

Blushing faintly at the praise, Harry flung Hedwig into the air. "So," he said, changing the subject, "do you keep a pet?"

"Mm hm," Pansy replied, "do you want to see her?"

"Sure."

"Alright then."

Harry watched curiously as Pansy reached into her bookbag and pulled out a heavy leather glove and a small, copper whistle.

Tugging the glove on, Pansy said, "You may want to step back a pace… she's got a big wingspan, and she doesn't really care for strangers."

She tucked the whistle into her mouth and gave it a blow, but Harry did not hear a single sound. They waited for a moment, with Harry anticipating the appearance of another owl, or perhaps a majestic eagle or falcon. He nearly gasped, of course, as a huge, black shape winged out of the darkness, coming into land on Pansy's outstretched arm, and immediately flipping over to hang upside down, sticking its face under one large, leathery wing to groom itself.

"I know she's not pretty," Pansy said quietly, stroking the bat's furry back with her forefinger, "but she's about the only thing that's really mine in this world, and we get on ok."

"What, umm… species is she?" Harry asked lamely, not knowing what else to say.

He recoiled as the bat pulled its head out from under its wing, its sharp, black eyes fixing on him as its flat, sharply peaked nose scented the air in his direction.

"_Desmodus__ rotundus,"_ Pansy said succinctly. "Her name is Bertha."

"Bertha?" Harry echoed, thinking this a rather odd name for such a cruel looking animal.

"My sister named her when she gave her to me," Pansy explained, tucking the whistle back into her pocket.

Grasping this topic like a lifeline, Harry blurted, "I didn't know you had a sister."

Pansy made a face. "I don't really like to talk about her," she said distastefully.

"Is she… a better witch, or something?" Harry ventured, vividly remembering Ron's envy for his brothers.

This made Pansy laugh out loud. "H-hardly," she chuckled, "Lily is almost a squib she's so bad at magic, and she hasn't an ounce of ambition in her," Pansy's expression darkened, "she was a Hufflepuff for Heaven's sake – barely even graduated. She's a secretary now at some office that deals with wizard and muggle interaction cleanups or some such, but before she left home, she gave me Bertha as a birthday present."

Harry nodded, fighting the wave of nostalgia at the mention of the name Lily.

His mother's name had been Lily.

Mistaking his quiet for disgust, Pansy frowned. "I know she doesn't look like much," she said lightly, "but she's loyal – more loyal than most owls. Not everything that looks evil, is, Potter…"

"I never said that," Harry cried, "I-"

"Better be running along now," Pansy said coolly, "it's feeding time…"

Turning slightly green, Harry stammered, "S-see you," and hurriedly gathered up his belongings. As he pulled the trapdoor open, however, Pansy spoke one last time.

"Thank you for helping me, Potter. We'll work on gathering potion ingredients tomorrow, alright?"

Glancing towards her, Harry found the girl's back to him. "Sure," he said quietly, trying to pretend that he could not imagine what Bertha was doing to Pansy's other hand – currently blocked by her body – and wondering if he had ever heard her voice this quiet.

"See ya."

"'Night."

Harry continued to stare at the Slytherin for several minutes, as if hoping enough study might somehow reveal her true motivations. There was more at stake with the girl than a simple grade – Harry knew that – but damned if he could understand what. With a sigh, he climbed down the ladder and gently closed the trapdoor, not wanting to interrupt Bertha's 'meal.'

He dreamt of owls and bats all night.

Continued…

Author's Notes: I was gonna have a whole discussion between Harry and Pansy about how owls and bats are both cruel night hunters, but owls are considered majestic and bats are considered gruesome and evil, and then have it observed that Pansy's like a bat and Harry's an owl… etc…etc… etc… but in the end I decided it would be better to simplify things and say that Bertha is the only thing Pansy really trusts, and even that's a little shaky. I DID have some deep thoughts about bats and owls, though, I really did! Really…

SxStrngSamurai skimmed this chapter for me and made sure it didn't COMPLETELY suck. Thanks man.

Feedback is always welcome on any site with reviewing capabilities, or by e-mailing me directly at random1377(at-sign)yahoo(dot)com.


	5. Blood of the Heart

Disclaimer: see part 1.

Beautiful Poison

By Random1377

Chapter 5 – Blood of the Heart

Life for a sixth year Hogwarts student, Pansy and Harry both discovered, left very little time for anything else. Everything went fine until the holidays, for which Pansy, Harry discovered, remained in Hogwarts – out of preference rather than need, a concept Harry could not wrap his mind around. Once the holidays were over, though, and the threat of impending finals (still months away, but looming all the same) set in, time seemed to disappear.

Both Harry and Pansy seemed deluged in homework, field trips, and lower-grade students asking for help, forcing them to cut their clandestine meetings back to one per week, though they always managed to find time for it. Pansy's _Patronus_was still merely ghostly vapor, but it seemed to do much better in the Room of Requirement, and at least it was actually THERE. Harry's elixir was simmering nicely in the potions room, in spite of Crabbe 'accidentally' bumping into Harry's cauldron one afternoon.

The Elixir was not deadly yet, and it was not terribly volatile or touchy about being knocked… but Crabbe, being a large, ungainly git (as Ron had dubbed him) had nearly tipped the cauldron over. Only a quick dive by Justin Finch Fletchly – and a jaunt to the hospital wing to treat the resulting burn – had saved it.

Snape hadn't even taken any points for Crabbe's clumsiness.

At last it was time to add the Heartblood – a step Harry had been dreading since reading up on the ingredient. He was pacing the length of the Room of Requirement, worrying at his thumbnail, when Pansy came rushing in, slamming the door behind herself.

"What's wr-"

"Let's get this over with," Pansy muttered. "Chop, chop Potter, I haven't got all day."

Walking over to one of the benches, she sat down, pulling a pair of vials and a slim dagger out of her robes and setting them next to her.

"Wh-where'd you get that?" Harry wanted to know, eyeing the blade warily as Pansy impatiently gestured for him to join her.

"Birthday present," she said dismissively, "twelfth. Don't worry, it isn't cursed… never could get it to stick."

Harry looked mistrustfully at the girl. _But you tried,_ he thought skeptically. _What kind of curse would you put on a dagger? Wouldn't that, by definition, be a dark art? I mean, you're only using it to kill, so…_

He let the thought trail off, walking slowly over to the bench as he realized he was stalling for time.

"I'll go first," Pansy said softly, looking into Harry's eyes as she shrugged off her robe.

"Wh-what are you doing?" he stammered, averting his eyes.

Pansy shrugged, her eyes gleaming as she replied, "I don't want to get it on my robes. Come on… it's cold in here."

_Sure is,_ Harry thought guiltily, pulling his eyes away from where they had come to rest and picking up the knife, hefting it thoughtfully as he sat down at Pansy's side.

"Well, here we g-"

"Wait!"

Pansy grabbed his hand, her eyes fixed on the blade of the knife.

"I won't hurt you," Harry whispered, carefully pulling her fingers away. "Trust me."

But Pansy shook her head. "I… I can't," she said, sounding almost apologetic, "sorry, Potter… but I just can't." She wet her lips sliding over until she was next to him on the bench. "There," she muttered, "now… do it – carefully!"

Harry nodded, slowly inching the blade towards her pale, flawless skin. _Almost seems like a crime,_ he thought ironically, _she's actually kind of pretty – when she's not scowling._

Pansy hissed as the knife pressed against her breast. "Carefully…!"

Allowing her to keep her hand atop his, Harry slowly slid the blade across her chest, seeking the spot just over her heart where the blood must be drawn. He had not been able to find anything explaining why, exactly, Heartblood must be taken from directly over the heart. As far as he knew from his muggle biology lessons, blood was blood – unless it came from an artery or someplace deeper inside the body, and this would be a shallow cut at best.

_Must be a magic thing…_

He winced as the tip of the blade scraped her, not quite breaking the skin but leaving a long, angry welt. "You're… making me scratch you," he hissed, trying to pull back a bit. "Pansy… Pansy, let go of the knife!"

"It's almost there," Pansy breathed, her cheeks glowing with color as she continued to guide Harry's hand. "Almost… _there _– right there!"

Harry swallowed, staring at the end of the blade as it dimpled her flesh. _Just a bit further and her skin breaks,_ he thought, slowly bringing his eyes up to her flushed face, _and if I pushed as hard as I could…_

He shivered at the dark thought, feeling his mouth dry up as Pansy's eyes slowly opened. "Whatever you're going to do," she whispered, staring at him openly as she slowly released his hand, "you'd better do it now…"

She arched her back, causing the knife to dig cruelly into the soft skin of her breast and making a drop of blood well up – brilliantly red in the soft light of the Room of Requirement. The way her body was situated, Harry realized suddenly, she was entirely defenseless. She could no more stop him than play all seven positions in Quidditch simultaneously, presenting her body to him as a willing sacrifice to anything he wanted to do to it.

All he had to do was decide – immediately – if she was to live or die.

Pansy cried out as the blade abruptly pierced her flesh, the most maddening combination of pleasure and pain she had ever felt ripping through her body as the Boy Who Lived… stabbed her.

Blood ran immediately from the cut, spilling down over the cup of her bra and soaking it in a second. _Has he… stopped? _Pansy thought, feeling hot and shivery as Harry's free hand lighted on her shoulder, squeezing briefly before pulling away.

In all honesty… she could not tell how deeply the knife had gone into her. For some reason her senses were all going haywire, reporting that the knife was a hair from her heart, but at the same time no more than a quarter inch inside her. She could smell her own blood, sharp and metallic to her nostrils, and hear the quick, shallow breathing of her 'studying companion' as he did God only knew what at her side.

And for some reason, all she could think about was putting her hands on him – of simply crushing his body to hers and doing all of the things her mother had insisted every man wants from a woman.

"Th-there…"

Pansy let out a small groan as she felt the knife leave her body… but for the life of her, she was not sure if it was relief or disappointment.

A shiver shot down her spine as Harry pressed a handkerchief to he wound, staunching the trickle of blood before it could saturate her bra any further. Opening her eyes, she stared at his pale, dazed looking face, her mouth opening as she unthinkingly spoke what was on her mind.

"Did you like that…?"

Harry flushed bright red, carefully setting aside the small vial of her blood he had gathered and shaking his head emphatically. "C-course not!" he stammered. "Why… why would I like… something like that?"

But Pansy noticed that he would not meet her eyes.

The two sat in silence for several minutes, shifting uncomfortably in the dry chill of the Room of Requirement until finally, Pansy reached into her robes and pulled out a small, bright green potion, handing it to Harry without a word.

"What's this for?" he asked, holding the bottle up to the light.

"It's a healing draught," Pansy said coolly, "put some on me… I'm still bleeding."

Harry paled once more. "You can't… put it on yourself?"

Pansy's eyes were bright as she replied, "Well, I can… but I want you to."

"What? Why!"

"Oh, you can stab me but you can't heal me!" Pansy shot back, straightening her back and looking down her nose at him. "Think of it as a lesson in potions – the proper application of a healing draught to an open wound." She pursed her lips. "Besides," she grumbled, holding up her callused palm, "your hands are softer than mine – now come on, I still need to get _your_ blood."

Harry, who had forgotten this fact, quickly unstoppered the bottle. "Alright," he muttered, feeling oddly guilty as her work-worn palms came to rest on her thighs, "do I just pour it on or what?"

Pansy sighed. "No wonder you got such a low score on the last test. No, just cover the end of the bottle with your palm and tip it up so you get a little on your hand – yeah, just like that. Now just… spread it on…"

Reluctantly, Harry did as he was told, reaching out and tentatively laying his hand against her skin. "Hey!" he blurted, "It… it got warm!"

"It does that when blood hits it," Pansy explained, "wow you really _don't_ pay attention in class, do you?"

Ignoring her – and trying not to notice where, exactly, he was touching – Harry carefully applied the potion to her body, gently rubbing it into the wound and watching in wonder as it began to close, the damaged tissue re-knitting itself as the potion seeped into it. After three handfuls of the Draught of Healing, the skin on Pansy's breast was whole and pink once more, glistening slightly in the mid-afternoon light.

Pansy murmured something that sounded suspiciously like 'need to get hurt more often' and reached out, picking the knife up off the bench and eyeing it critically. "Your turn," she said softly, tapping Harry's Gryffindor badge with the tip of the blade. "Robes off, Potter, and don't worry – I'll be gentle."

Somehow, the wolfish grin that accompanied this assurance did not comfort Harry very much. With great reluctance, he eased his robe off and set it on the floor, pulling his undershirt off and shivering – more from the exposure than the air, since it was not freezing in the room, just a bit cooler than he would have liked.

When Pansy leaned forward suddenly, however, Harry instinctively slapped the blade away, wincing as her smile grew. "S-sorry," he mumbled, trying to relax.

"You _still_ don't trust me," Pansy whispered, "well, I don't really have time for this, Potter, I _do_ have to be back to my dorm eventually… so…"

Harry gasped as the Slytherin girl suddenly swung her left leg over him, straddling him so fast he did not have a chance to resist and pinning his arms at his sides with her knees. He squirmed feebly as Pansy brought the knife into view, giving him another of her darkly chilling smiles.

"Best hold still," she whispered, "I wouldn't want to hit anything vital."

Freezing immediately, Harry watched with wide eyes as the knife descended, the warm metal touching his bare skin and slowly tracing its way to the left side. "Higher," he blurted suddenly, flinching as the blade pushed against his chest. "Just a little… higher."

Pansy nodded, licking her lips as she repositioned the knife… but she did not move. Instead, she stared into his eyes, saying nothing and letting the silence spool out endlessly. Harry felt hypnotized, longing to squirm and twitch under her intense gaze, but not daring to move for fear of having the knife accidentally move to a different place, resulting in a second, unnecessary cut. He had to swallow, though, as the girl slowly drifted closer, wetting her lips as if in anticipation and keeping her eyes focused unblinkingly on his.

Harry found that his body was trembling as Pansy reached up and wrapped her free hand around the back of his neck, holding him firmly in place as her glistening lips moved closer and closer to his own. He tried to cry 'stop' or 'don't' or anything else that might halt her inexorable approach, but he found his throat frozen and immobile – and before he knew what was happening, Pansy's mouth was less than an inch from his.

"Uhh!"

Pansy's eyes gleamed as Harry's breath exploded into her mouth, the sudden pain of the knife's entry taking him totally off guard, and she greedily inhaled, imagining that she was somehow drinking in everything that made him unique. Confident that he was not going to pull away (he would have by now, she reasoned) Pansy released his neck, reaching blindly down onto the bench next to her and snatching up the empty vial that sat there. Pulling the knife free, she pressed the glass tube against his skin, keeping her eyes locked onto his as it filled with his blood.

Corking it without looking, Pansy set the vial on her robes, but instead of immediately pulling away and applying the Draught of Healing, she gave in to one, last, little indulgence…

( 0 0 0 )

"Hey, Harry!" Ron called, his voice heavy with concern. "You alright, mate?"

Harry stumbled slightly, blinking in confusion as his friend rushed to his side. "Ron?" he whispered, "Am I alright? Yeah… sure… why wouldn't I be?"

Ron glanced around the entry hall. "You were looking pretty out of it, mate," he pointed out, putting a steadying hand under Harry's elbow and leading him towards the portrait of the fat lady.

"I'm fine," Harry reiterated, shaking his head to clear it and straightening his back to show that he was ok, "just a little too hot, I guess."

"Eleanor Rigby," Ron called out, wondering just who came up with these passwords as the portrait of the fat lady swung open to reveal the opening to Gryffindor tower. "I've got some of that fudge my mum sent left over," he said, leading Harry to a seat next to Hermione, "you want some? You look like you got hit by a dementor, or something…"

Harry nodded, trying to pull himself together as Hermione lifted her eyes and regarded him carefully over the edge of her book.

"Sure."

Ron grinned. "Sit right here," he said brightly, clearly pleased that he was going to be able to help, "back in a jiff."

Before the redheaded boy was even out of the room, Hermione was closing her book and leaning over to whisper, "What happened?"

Harry simply stared at the far wall for a moment, forcing Hermione to repeat herself. Slowly, he shook himself, turning his wide eyes on the girl and breathing, "She… she kissed me."

Hermione's frown grew. "Did you spit when she was done?" she asked darkly. "She might've had poison on her lips."

Harry focused on the witch. "Wouldn't that have killed her, then?" he asked, refraining from asking why Hermione was so suspicious.

Everyone was suspicious of Slytherin house… usually with good reason.

"Most poisons don't work on the person who made them, especially if they contributed something to the mixture," Hermione sighed, "that's _first_ year stuff, Harry!"

"I knew that," Harry grumbled, no longer looking so pleased with himself, "I just… I wasn't thinking."

Hermione sniffed. "That _does_ seem to be one of your traits sometimes," she said coolly. Seeing that she was pushing too hard, Hermione's voice became gentler. "Listen, Harry," she said softly, "I'm your friend… I just don't want you to get hurt, alright? Pansy's in really good with Malfoy and his gang, so just… just be careful?"

Grudgingly, Harry nodded. "I know," he said stubbornly, "but she's… she's not the same as him – she's actually not that bad at all, once you get to know her."

Unable to stop herself, Hermione whispered, "Or else she's very good at making you _think_ she's not that bad."

Silence fell as Harry found that he had no reply.

Continued…

Author's Notes: did anyone not see that kiss coming? I'm the king of unsubtle, so I'm sure I telegraphed it a couple chapters back. Oh well, nothing for it now, I suppose. Next chapter things get really interesting… or at least, I hope they do – I haven't even started writing it yet. Heh.

Had a little pre-reading assist on this chapter from SxStrngSamurai13, cuz he's cool like dat.

Feedback is always welcome on any site with reviewing capabilities or by e-mailing me directly at random1377(at-sign)yahoo(dot)com.


	6. Trust Issues

Disclaimer: see part 1.

Beautiful Poison

By Random1377

Chapter 6 – Trust Issues

Hermione was not having a very good week. Her test scores had dipped recently from ninety-nines and ninety-eights to ninety-eights and ninety-sevens – a trend that nearly had her in tears. She could trace the drop back to a singular event, of course.

Or rather, she could trace it back to a singular event and the resulting aftermath.

"Careless," she muttered to herself as she hurried between classes, "Harry, you're being careless…"

As far as she knew, there had been no more intimacy between Harry and Pansy, but she was certainly not going to ask about it. For some reason, the thought of those two being close made the fine hairs on Hermione's arms stand up. The carelessness she was referring to, though, was not just the kissing incident – it was the whispers that Harry had been seen openly talking to Pansy in the halls.

Twice.

Fraternization between houses was not forbidden, of course, nor was it even frowned upon or discouraged by the faculty members… but there was an unspoken agreement between the other houses that Slytherins were not to be associated with, and even casual friendships were few and far between, so the fact that the Boy Who Lived had spoken to a Slytherin witch raised more than a few eyebrows, even if the rumors were hotly denied by both houses.

There was also the fact that Harry and Pansy had been seen together at the Three Broomsticks during the Hogsmeade trip.

Whether they were together or not made no difference, in Hermione's eyes… they were in the same building, which was enough grist for the rumor mill to churn ever so slightly faster.

_Careless…_

"Granger – hey, Granger, over here."

Hermione glanced up. "Lavender," she said with some relief, coming alongside the other Gryffindor, but not slowing her pace at all, forcing the other girl to scramble to keep up. "Anything?"

"Not much," Lavender replied, shaking her head for emphasis. "She's got a little clique in Slytherin, but getting one of them to talk would be like getting pumpkin pasties out of a flobber worm."

"Figured as much," Hermione mumbled, slowing a bit as the classroom door came into view.

It wouldn't hurt, she decided, to be on time rather than five minutes early.

Just this once.

"Hey," she said suddenly, "do you have any friends in Slytherin?"

Lavender looked offended. "No," she said curtly, "why would I?"

"Do you know anyone that does?"

"Umm…" Lavender had to think about this for a moment, "No, I don't."

Hermione frowned slightly. "Neither do I."

"So?"

"It's nothing, just thinking of something. Ok, I've gotta get to class – let me know if you find out anything."

Lavender nodded, looking determined as she whispered, "Don't worry, we'll find out what she's up to."

As the other girl moved off down the hallway, Hermione sighed.

Networking, she thought, should be a class at Hogwarts. She was growing quite skilled at developing casual relationships and quid pro quo arrangements with other students – usually nothing more complicated than a couple of swapped class notes… not that Hermione really needed any assistance with her schoolwork, but she had found that barter and exchange tended to make people feel better about dealing with you than charity, and she was always very careful to make sure that what she was giving was of greater value than what she was receiving.

She could think of thirteen people offhand that felt they owed her something for helping them out with their homework, and while she herself did not consider them indebted to her, she still kept mental tabs on who she might be able to call in favors from.

Just in case.

Regarding Pansy, though, and Slytherin in general… Hermione was starting to notice a trend in all the people she had talked to about their dealings with the other house – a trend that made her ever so slightly uncomfortable.

_It's not like it's unwarranted,_ she mused, pacing back and forth in front of the classroom door, _I mean, it's like Hagrid said, 'there's never been a witch or wizard that went bad that wasn't in Slytherin.' Hmm… I don't think that can be true, can it? I've never really looked into it, I guess, but from a purely statistical standpoint, there has to-_

"Are you planning to stand there all day?"

Hermione blinked, raising her head as she realized that she had stopped pacing right in front of the classroom door, making it impossible for anyone to get in. "Oh, sorry," she said quickly, stepping to the side and looking at the person who had roused her.

_What,_ she thought with some amazement, _are the odds…?_

"Parkinson."

"Granger."

The Slytherin girl was eyeing her critically, a nasty smile quirking the corner of her lips.

"You've got ink on your face," she said slyly, "did you know? Just there."

Vexed, Hermione quickly scrubbed at the spot the other girl had indicated, murmuring a wintry, "Thanks…" before turning to yank open the classroom door.

As her hand lighted on the handle, however, Pansy murmured, "You've been asking around about me. Don't."

"And why not?" Hermione wondered, narrowing her eyes as she glanced over shoulder, "Something to hide, Parkinson?"

Pansy was no longer smiling. "Everyone has something to hide, Granger," she said dangerously, "I wonder what I might find if I went around having all of my friends follow you around, hmm?"

Hermione turned, folding her arms over her chest as she boldly replied, "Nothing, that's what – I don't have any secrets."

Leaning closer, Pansy whispered, "_Everyone_… has secrets. Everyone has something they don't want the world to know about them. Everyone has something they're embarrassed about, Granger… everyone."

"Not me," Hermione said proudly. "That's the difference between Gryffindors and Slytherins, I suppose – we actually _trust_ people, Parkinson."

Pansy shrugged. "You can trust someone while still being aware of what they do," she pointed out flatly. "In my family… we like to call that caution."

"In mine we call it paranoia," Hermione shot back, "now if you'll excuse me, I have a class to get to."

As she started to pull the door open, Pansy slammed it shut.

"Look, I-"

"Leave me alone, Granger," Pansy said coldly. "Stop having your pathetic friends try to watch every move I make – it makes going to the lou kind of a pain." She lowered her voice to a smooth whisper. "Potter's a big boy, Granger… why don't you stay out of his affairs."

Hermione scowled at the other girl, but said nothing as Pansy pulled the door open and gestured for her to enter the classroom.

She had forgotten that Pansy was in the class too.

( 0 0 0 )

Two weeks later… everything came crashing down.

Harry smiled as he made his way back from the great hall. Dinner had been fantastic, and while finals were already looming, Harry felt pretty good about himself. Perhaps it was the memory of his kiss with Pansy that was carrying him, but he had to admit that things seemed to be working out alright.

_Malfoy's been scarce,_ he thought as he turned down the corridor leading to Gryffindor tower, _the potion's simmering, Pansy's almost got a Patronus – everything's coming up-_

"Harry."

"Oh, Hermione," Harry said happily, "we missed you at dinner. Ron's gone off to do something with Neville for herbology, but-"

Hermione cut him off. "Harry, I need to talk to you a minute."

Frowning as she took his hand and pulled him off down the hall, Harry murmured, "What is it, 'mione?"

"Not here."

Harry followed, a sense of foreboding growing in his stomach as Hermione led him to a small, unused classroom. _Seems to be a lot of these, _he thought as the witch closed the door, _this place is immense…_

"Alright," Hermione said firmly, "I've put an anti-snoop charm on the door, so we should be ok."

"Alright," Harry said cheerfully, still feeling mostly good about life.

_What could possibly have Hermione in such a tizzy?_

As if he had spoken out loud, Hermione bluntly said, "It's about your potion, Harry."

"What about it?" Harry wondered, still seeing no cause for alarm. "It's in the dungeons, and no one can get in there without Snape's permission."

"That's not entirely true," Hermione said dismissively, "but that's not what I'm talking about. It's about… it's about one of your ingredients, Harry."

"The slug bile?"

Hermione hissed with irritation. "This is serious!"

"It's fine," Harry said soothingly. "I put everything in when I was supposed to – yes, even the Heartblood. Don't worry so much, Hermione."

"Harry," Hermione said carefully, finally cutting to the chase, "Heartblood needs to be… pure."

"Yeah," Harry replied, clearly confused, "I know."

Hermione bit her lip. "You know what pure means, right?"

Rolling his eyes, Harry said, "Yes, Hermione, I know what pure means… what is this all about?"

"Pure means that that the blood has to come from a virgin, Harry," Hermione said, now looking very agitated.

"Yes, I get it," Harry said with some annoyance, "what's your p-"

"Pansy isn't."

There was a very long, very heavy silence.

"It's… it's not true," Harry managed finally, looking very pale as he slumped back against the wall. "It's a lie. Pansy's not… she not that way…"

Hermione looked at him pityingly. "I asked around about her – because I was worried about you," she said quietly, putting a consoling hand on Harry's shoulder. "Susan Bones said that Malfoy was bragging about it in the halls – she said he was telling Goyle that he's been… _with_ Pansy for two years now, and that she'd do anything he says. Harry," she wet her lips. "Harry, I'm so sorry to say it like this… but it was all a lie, do you understand? I know you thought she was different, but she really is a Slytherin after all."

Scrubbing angrily at his eyes, Harry growled, "Malfoy… of course it would be Malfoy, I should have known. I'll bet he was in on it the whole time!"

"Probably," Hermione said gently, "but you didn't know, Harry… you did the right thing."

Harry laughed bitterly. "The right thing?" he cried, "The right thing? Oh yeah – teaching an enemy how to defend herself and trusting that she's trying to help me, all while she's slipping a knife into my back… if that's the 'right thing' I'd love to know what the wrong one was!"

Slowly, Hermione hugged him. "The right thing was upholding your end of the bargain," she said gently, "the right thing was showing her that you're a man of your word, even if she's not. That makes you the better person, Harry."

"Yeah, the better person with a failing grade," Harry muttered tiredly, "I'll bet hers works just fine, though."

"If I'd only known sooner," Hermione said regretfully, "I'm sure it wouldn't have been a problem to get the Heartblood from someone else."

"Like who?" Harry asked derisively, "You? Would you have just whipped off your robes and let me cut you straight off?"

"You _could_ have asked Ron, you know," Hermione pointed out in exasperation, "it doesn't say that the blood has to come from a member of the opposite sex!"

Dumbfounded, Harry slumped back, his mouth opening and closing rather like a fish out of water. "I never… thought of that," he admitted stupidly.

Hermione's face softened. "I know you didn't," she sighed, sounding very tired, "that's the problem – you just… you don't think sometimes, Harry."

Harry nodded, sighing mightily. "Yeah," he whispered, rubbing his eyes tiredly, "I guess I don't. Huh… well I suppose the joke's on me, then, isn't it?"

Her chest tight with sympathy, Hermione whispered, "You can… take some of mine up for the final if you want, Harry. And… and if it means anything to you now, I _would_ have let you… you know…"

"Thanks Hermione," Harry murmured, "but Snape'll know – he always knows… and it has to be a full ounce, anyway, so we'd both fail. I'll just, well, I guess I'll just turn in what I have and hope it at least gets me a passing grade for effort."

"I don't think it will, Harry," Hermione said reluctantly, "I think… if the blood is 'tainted' then all you end up with is muck."

Harry shrugged. "I'll still turn it in," he said defiantly, "and if Snape asks why it's bad, I'll tell him!"

To his surprise, Hermione paled. "Oh you can't!" she gasped, "I'll… please Harry, I know she… she tricked you, but don't… don't do that to her, ok? Promise me?" She blushed brightly as he stared at her. "There are… worse things in school than getting a failing grade, Harry, please promise me you won't say it in front of everyone – please…?"

"Alright, alright!" Harry snapped, swayed by her plea but still filled with anger and self-loathing for allowing himself to be so trusting.

"Thank you," Hermione said honestly, "and don't worry, Harry… I'll help you get through potions next term – even if you need Heartblood. I'll make the time next time, I swear it."

Harry managed a smile. "Thanks, Hermione," he sighed, "I'm… I'm gonna go to bed now. G'night…"

Giving him another gentle hug, Hermione stepped away. "Night, Harry…"

She watched sadly as the young man wandered slowly off to bed. As soon as he was out of sight, though, her expression hardened. _Oh Parkinson,_ she thought grimly, _you really have no idea of what you've done… but you're going to find out._

( 0 0 0 )

Pansy was having a good day. Finals had been good to her so far – to the point that Snape had given her an advance reading of her grade to allow her more time to practice for other finals. She was far from his favorite, but she had a way of getting people to do what she wanted when she set her mind to it, so freeing herself of the final grading was a simple task of turning in her potion – which she was confident would be perfect – and telling Snape that she was far behind in every other subject because she had dedicated so much time to getting her potion just right.

Honestly, she thought disgustedly, men were easier to manipulate than anyone else.

_I just wish I could be there for Potter's,_ she thought with a small grin, _that__ should get a response…_

As she rounded a corner, however, she found herself face to face with the very person she had been thinking of.

"Oh," she gasped as she came up short, "Hey, Potter… what-"

"Parkinson."

Pansy was instantly wary.

_He looks… furious…_

She had no idea.

"Finals going well?" he asked smoothly, eyeing her closely as she took an involuntary step back. "Nothing… out of sorts?"

"N-no," Pansy stammered, "no problems so far, how, umm… how about you…?"

"Oh fine, fine," Harry said, his tone dripping with sarcasm as he matched her step with one of his own. "No, Septillion said my defense against the dark arts is some of the best he's seen from a high schooler, and McGonagall thinks I should pass Transfiguration reasonably well…"

Pansy nodded, noticing suddenly how quiet the hall they were in was. "Well that's good," she said, edging to the side so that her back would not be to the wall.

"Isn't it?" Harry exclaimed. "Why, with all those good grades, one failing one won't matter all that much, right…?"

Taking another backward step, Pansy glanced down at Harry's hand.

_He's already got his wand out,_ she thought, going from mild agitation to outright fear, _this is not good._

"What are you failing?" she asked, unable to bear the heavy silence that had fallen. "I thought you were doing well in everything."

Harry grinned unpleasantly. "So did I," he said softly, "imagine my surprise when I heard the news."

"News?"

"Oh yes," Harry laughed bitterly, "good on you, Parkinson… good on you for keeping it from me for so long – it really was quite a work of art, making me think you were innocent when all this time, you and Malfoy-"

"Malfoy," Pansy cut in sharply, "what about Malfoy?"

Harry's nostril's flared. "Don't play dumb," he said angrily. "Did you think I wouldn't find out, hmm? Or were you hoping you'd be able to milk me for a few last minute tips before I got humiliated in front of the whole class?"

Pansy stared him straight in the eyes.

"It's a lie."

"Ha!" Harry snorted. "Why should I believe you?"

Abruptly, Pansy grabbed the collar of her robe and yanked it down and to the side, exposing the top of her bra. "Because of this," she said flatly. "Healing potions don't leave a scar, Harry, but I gave you something that day… so believe in me, not some stupid rumor you heard in the hall."

Harry frowned, clearly not expecting her to refute it so adamantly.

"And what, exactly, do you think you gave me?" he asked coldly, "other than a failing grade, I mean."

Pansy's eyes flashed, but she said nothing as she slowly straightened her robe.

Turning his back on her, Harry strode off down the hall, leaving her with one, final comment.

"You make me sick."

He was long gone by the time Pansy sank to the floor and buried her face in her hands, shaking from head to foot as she barely kept herself from doing something she had not allowed herself to do for three years.

Continued…

Author's notes: I think I have about two more chapters' worth of story left to tell, or possibly three, depending on how 8 comes out. It might be a little angsty now that things are starting to deteriorate, just so you know… but unlike Rowling, I have NO plans to kill off any main characters. Criminy, woman – cut those folks some slack!

SxStrngSamurai gave this chapter a quick once-over and said it seemed to be ok.

Feedback is always welcome on any site with reviewing capabilities, or by e-mailing me directly at random1377(at-sign)yahoo(dot)com.


	7. My Friend Misery

Disclaimer: see part 1.

Beautiful Poison

By Random1377

Chapter 7 – My Friend Misery

Moaning Myrtle slid up out of her favorite drainpipe looking sullen and forlorn. Of course, since this was her normal expression, no one would have thought anything was different – indeed, only those that spent significant time with the ghost could spot the twinkle in her eye as she spied a lone sixth-year leaning up against the far wall, hugging his knees to his chest and staring silently at the tile under his feet.

The old expression 'misery loves company' was very fitting for the dead girl, only it would be more accurate to say that Myrtle loved misery – specifically, other peoples' misery. Seemingly delighted that the boy was in a bad mood, she hovered closer to him.

"Ohh, is it _really_ awful?" she asked hopefully, grinning broadly as Harry cast her a baleful glance. "It is, isn't it? Are you planning to do anything… drastic?"

Harry ground his teeth.

This, he did not need.

"No, Myrtle," he said patiently, very much wanting to avoid one of the ghost's famous crying jags, "I'm afraid I won't be joining you today."

"Tomorrow then?"

His nostrils flaring, Harry gritted out, "No, Myrtle… I'm not going to kill myself, I'm just having a hard day."

Myrtle sighed. "Pity," she said wistfully, "t'would be nice to have some steady company." She fixed him with an accusatory stare. "You used to visit so often," she remarked, "now you haven't the time for me…"

"That was four years ago," Harry pointed out tiredly, "when we were making the Polyjuice potion."

"And could you be bothered to stop by every now and then?" Myrtle sniffed, "No, no, you're far too busy for poor Moa-"

"Oh sod off!"

Myrtle's jaw fell open.

She tried to recall the last time someone had treated her so, and came up empty. Normally, when people were foolish enough to come into her bathroom, they did their best to keep her from crying. Partly, she supposed, out of pity for her deceased state, but mostly because her keen was tuned to such a pitch as to encourage peoples' lunch to come up – making most visitors thankful that she happened to haunt a toilet.

It was time, she decided, for the waterworks… but no sooner had she opened her mouth to begin to wail, than Harry whispered, "Come off it, Myrtle."

His voice was so soft and firm that – to her own surprise – Myrtle closed her mouth.

Not to be out-depressed, though, she mumbled, "It must be really, _really,_ awful… you're usually nice to me, not that anyone else is, but you used to be…"

"Sorry," Harry murmured, "I didn't mean to snap."

Floating down to rest next to him, Myrtle simply shrugged. "I'm used to it," she said matter-of-factly.

They sat in surprisingly comfortable silence for several minutes, with Harry plucking at the hem of his robes and Myrtle staring off into space, thinking about death and sadness.

Old habits and all that.

"Myrtle," Harry finally mumbled, "when I was working on the Tri-Wizard Tournament, and you saw me in the bathroom…" he winced as Myrtle's luminous eyes turned his way.

_Maybe I shouldn't have brought that up,_ he thought as a faint smile lit the ghost's face.

"Yes," she said slyly, "I remember that quite well…"

"Uhhrm," Harry cleared his throat, "yes, well… I never did properly thank you for helping me figure that out."

Myrtle's smile grew less predatory. "You still haven't," she said smugly, "but I forgive you."

Harry sketched a smile.

"Thanks."

"So spit it out."

"Hmm?"

Leaning against – and partially into – the wall, Myrtle clarified, "You must have come here to talk. There's hundreds of places in Hogwarts to hide out and be left alone, but you came here – so spit it out, Harry."

Harry opened his mouth to say that he had, in fact, come to the bathroom to be alone… but he slowly closed it as he realized this was not entirely true.

Myrtle was right… there were hundreds of places to hide in the school, and with the Marauder's Map and his invisibility cloak, he could have stayed out of sight of any living (or undead) creature for days – weeks if he chose to.

Yet there he was.

Not knowing quite why… Harry told Myrtle everything, from Pansy sneaking up on him on the first night of the new term, to their training together and his slowly growing more comfortable with the Slytherin girl, to the rumor (he still could not _quite_ make himself believe it was fact) that Pansy was sleeping with Malfoy, he gave the ghost the whole story.

Save one, minor detail.

_She already looks grumpy,_ he thought as the ghost absorbed all that he had told her, _No need for her to know about the kiss._

Somehow, he felt that Myrtle _might_ not be too pleased about this news – not that he feared her or anything, but even he was not so dense as to miss the cues the ghost showed every time he was in the room, and besides… he didn't want to badmouth Pansy out of sheer spite. He liked to think he was better than that.

"She sounds like a tart."

Harry sighed.

_Guess I could have told her after all…_

"Pity," Myrtle elaborated, "she sounded nice up until then."

"Did she?"

"The way you described her, yeah," Myrtle pointed out, "well… up until you found out she was a strumpet, anyway."

Harry nodded thoughtfully, resisting the urge to defend Pansy's 'honor.'

_How strange,_ he mused as the silence returned, _she's never met Pansy, so all she has to go on is what I've told her… and from that, she thinks Pansy's a nice person – which means that somehow, I must think she's a nice person too… right?_

Though the logic was nebulous, it still felt sound to Harry's mind.

Perhaps, he thought dismally, he simply wanted to see something in her that was not there, or perhaps… perhaps he had hoped to get her to _become_ something she was not.

_What a fool…_

"Harry…"

"Hmm?"

"…did you ask her about it?"

"How's that now?"

Myrtle studied the back of one ethereal hand. "Did you ask her if she did what you heard she did?" she murmured, sounding as if giving this advice was well outside of her scope of experience. "You know, when I was in school… people always teased me about my glasses, and the fact that I was always sick – but no one ever said I slept around. I'dve died if they did… but d'you know something? I would have told everyone it wasn't true as soon as I could."

"So if she's not doing that, maybe it's true…?" Harry ventured dismally.

"Well, no," Myrtle said reluctantly, "it _is_ finals, right? Maybe she's too busy with that to worry about it – and didn't she tell you it was a lie straight out?"

Harry was exasperated. "Yeah, but… but how do I know _that_ wasn't a lie? She sure hasn't been rushing around telling everyone that Malfoy's spreading rumors…"

Glancing sideways at him, Myrtle observed, "Maybe she doesn't care what everyone thinks of her… except you."

Covering his face with both hands, Harry let out a great sigh.

"I just… I don't know what to believe anymore…"

Nodding sagely, Myrtle said, "I used to be just like you."

Smiling weakly, Harry said, "Yeah? What did you to about it?"

"Died."

Harry's smile collapsed.

"…right."

"Poor Harry," Myrtle whispered, reaching out and running her ghostly hand over his bowed head, "I don't know what to tell you. I'm not good at dealing with the living, you know… and… and you're the only one I would even try for, but I don't know what to say…"

Slowly, Harry lifted his head.

"Thanks for trying," he said quietly, pushing himself upright and straightening his robes as Myrtle rose as well. "I have my potions final in an hour… guess I have to go face the music."

"If it goes badly," Myrtle said immediately, "you can always ki-"

"Don't," Harry cut in softly, silencing her in a heartbeat. "You don't have to act that way with me, you know. I don't know if… if you think you have to because you're a ghost, and everyone expects you to moan and sob all the time, but if you promise not to be that way, and just talk to me like you did today… I'll visit more."

A look of hunger flashed across Myrtle's face, vanishing so quickly that Harry almost thought he'd imagined it and being replaced by a finely crafted mask of mild shame.

"Alright, Harry," the ghost said lightly, "I'll be waiting."

Making his farewells, Harry got the disturbing impression that, in spite of her moping and whining, Myrtle… was very patient.

( 0 0 0 )

The proverbial music Harry faced began to 'play' at exactly four-fifty-five. The instruments were clinking potions bottles, shuffling feet, and clanking cauldrons… the accompaniment, softly whispered musings on the subject of grades and summer school.

Potions were to be turned in at five o'clock sharp, handed over one by one to Snape, who sat at his desk with several doses of the anti-poison because there was always, as he put it, 'At least one nitwit every other year that forgets to stopper his vial properly.'

Neville, of course, paled at hearing this – partly because he was sure he would be the nitwit, and partially because Snape had muttered his warning while looking Neville straight in the eye.

"M-Maybe I'll just t-take the failing grade…" Neville stammered as they all lined up, vials in hand, and began marching towards the front of the classroom.

"Come off of it," Ron muttered, keeping his voice too low for Snape to hear, "you'd just have to do it again next year – and besides, yours looks just like mine and Harry's."

Harry bit his tongue rather hard.

He did not have the heart to tell his friends that their potions looking like his was _not_ a good thing.

One by one, the students made their way to Snape's desk, waiting as patiently as they could while the potions master uncorked their vials, sniffed the contents, dribbled some onto a piece of paper they assumed to be enchanted to detect failure or success, and shooed them away without telling them what their grade was, telling one particularly nervous Gryffindor that she would find out by the day's end… but that she should not make any plans for summer.

The girl had run out of the dungeon sobbing.

_Well at least I know what to look forward too,_ Harry thought dismally, wondering if Snape would be able to tell _why_ his potion was a failure.

Finally, the time had come. Harry slowly held his vial out to the professor, keeping his gaze fixed defiantly on the dark pits Snape called eyes until the potions master began the now-ritualistic task of testing the potion. It took, in Harry's opinion, twice as long to determine his grade – a testament to the older man's cruelty, as Harry knew full-well what was coming.

Or at least, thought he did. Part of him still hoped that what Hermione had heard was false.

As the potion was re-corked, though, Harry's shoulders slumped. Snape looked even more upset than usual, leading Harry to believe that the man would stand up at any moment and point to the door, screaming, 'Out, out! Out of my classroom, you FAILURE!'

When the silence stretched into a staring contest, Harry was the one who finally broke eye contact, bowing with forced diffidence before turning on his heel to walk back to his desk.

"Potter."

Harry tensed, freezing immediately at the ice in the potions master's voice. "Yes, Professor?" he muttered miserably.

"Turn around," Snape commanded, "I would like a word with you."

The Slytherins immediately began whispering to each other, their eyes fixing avidly on the exchange taking place at the front of the classroom. Slowly, Harry turned to face his teacher, keeping his back as straight as he could under the gleefully malicious eyes of the students behind him.

"Sir?"

Snape was holding the vial up to the light, tapping the side of the glass with the tip of his finger. "This elixir," he said softly, arching an eyebrow, "who helped you make it?"

Feeling rather bold, as he now knew without a doubt that he would be getting a zero, Harry replied, "It was a member of Slytherin House, Professor. They donated the blood, too."

He felt a sense of cruel satisfaction as he heard Hermione wince behind him. _You said not to mention her name,_ he thought savagely, _so I didn't. I didn't even say it was a GIRL I was working with… but now I know that what you heard was true, so-_

"Is that right," Snape muttered sourly, his eyes sweeping the Slytherins – who had, Harry noticed belatedly, fallen silent – with a clear look of disapproval. "Well then I guess I have no choice but to award Slytherin House twenty points."

Harry turned red. "That's… not fair!" he sputtered, his fists clenching at his sides. He wanted to scream, 'you can't give points because I failed!' but the anger in Snape's eyes was enough to silence him.

His teacher's lip curled up into a sneer. "Fair?" he spat distastefully, "I think it is _more_ than fair to award a few house points to anyone that could get _you_, of all people, to create a potion of such…" the man's mouth worked silently for a moment, clearly having trouble forcing out the word he wanted to use. "Perfection!"

It took a moment for Snape's comments to sink in, and though Harry had opened his mouth to lodge another protest, he let it simply gape, staring with naked shock at his instructor as a murmur of discontent arose from the Slytherins. "Wh…at…?" he managed finally.

Snape was still surveying the potion, his dark eyes gleaming with almost religious fervor. "I would never – _never_ – have believed you capable of producing such a beautiful poison, Potter," he said coolly, "had you but applied yourself like this in previous semesters, your O.W.L. grade might not have been so… abysmal."

Much to his distaste, Harry found the words, "Thank you… sir," rolling like oil off his tongue.

"Full marks, Potter," Snape muttered, bending his head to mark the grade on a piece of paper on his desk. Then, sounding _far_ more reluctant than Harry had when thanking him, he whispered, "And five points… to Gryffindor."

In any other classroom, this declaration would have brought immediate cheers from Harry's fellow housemates… but knowing Snape's long-standing hatred for Gryffindor and Harry alike, the only response to his comment was a soft rustling of paper as the students gathered their things and stole out.

Back in the Gryffindor common room, however, it was as if Christmas had come early.

"Harrryyyy!"

The moment he stepped inside, Harry was bombarded with cheers, the force of the merriment inside nearly knocking him off his feet. No one could remember the last time Snape had awarded Gryffindor points, and there was talk among several of the seventh years of marking that day as an official 'Potter Over Snape' holiday – complete with cakes and posters and a magically enhanced picture of Snape endlessly repeating, "And five points… to Gryffindor," though no one quite knew who managed to gather the sound without Snape noticing.

Harry barely noticed.

"Hey," Lee Jordan cried, "where are you going, Potter?"

Dropping his bookbag on the floor, Harry ducked back through the portrait hole. "Something I've got to do," he muttered, ignoring the people protesting his departure as he looked left and right down the hallway, then rushed off towards professor Septillion's classroom.

_So stupid,_ he thought, barely noting the faces he passed as he raced through the halls, _how could I have been so stupid?_

Of course Malfoy would say he was sleeping with one of the girls in his house – why wouldn't he? He was a seventeen year old, swaggering, big-mouth jerk… exactly the kind of guy to claim he was sleeping with a pretty girl. It should have clued Harry in that the rumors did not start to spread until this term – when Pansy was prettier than the year before. If they had really been sleeping together for two terms, Malfoy would have splashed it all over long before now.

_STUPID!_

Rounding a corner, Harry found what he was looking for.

"Pansy!"

A surreal silence fell over the hall as everyone turned to face Harry, and almost immediately, three of Pansy's friends (Harry only recognized one) formed a screen in front of her, wands appearing almost out of thin air as they glared at him, showing a surprisingly unified front.

Harry skidded to a halt, eyeing the trio warily as Pansy slowly turned to face him.

"Well if it isn't Harry Potter," she said coolly, looking him up and down with obvious disgust, "something you need, Potter? Or are you here to call me a slut again?"

"It's just…" he fumbled for words. "I was… everyone was so sure… and… I just thought-"

"No one can make you believe unless you let them," Pansy cut in brutally, "you made your choice. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a final to get to."

As she turned around and started to walk away, Harry called, "Hey – remember the _Defractous_charm… Septillion won't expect it – it'll give you extra points."

Pansy said nothing, though Harry imagined that she hesitated for a moment before striding off down the hallway. With a deep sigh, he turned around and headed back to his dorm. There was nothing more he could do.

Continued…

Author's notes: I said last chapter that there would be two more chapters. Unfortunately (or fortunately, I guess, if you like the story) chapter 8 grew too long, and had to be split in two. So, for better or worse, depending on your viewpoint, there will be two more chapters – no more, no less. Here's hoping you enjoy them.

I scored the assist on this chapter from SxStrngSamurai – thanks, man.

Feedback is always welcome on any site with reviewing capabilities, or by e-mailing me directly at random1377(at-sign)yahoo(dot)com.


	8. Fifteen Seconds

Disclaimer: see part 1.

Beautiful Poison

By Random1377

Chapter 8 – Fifteen Seconds

Pansy made her way through the halls of Hogwarts without really paying attention to where she was going. With all of her finals behind her, the Slytherin girl had nothing to think about… or rather, nothing she _wanted_ to think about. She made a sharp right, trying her best not to think about her defense against the dark arts final.

A passing grade.

Barely.

_Thanks to Potter,_ she thought angrily, making another random turn as she found the topic unavoidable. _What a mistake. I never should have trusted that git!_

In spite of her rage, she still found herself slowing as she thought of Harry, or, more accurately, the kiss she had shared with him. It was not her first… nor was it even the best – that honor still went to Peoria Sandoval, a Muggle she had met over summer break during her third year. The boy's name had been so unusual that Pansy was sure he had been a wizard, though she had enough foresight not to mention magic to him – fortunate indeed, as his parents were puritanical Baptists and may very well have tried to burn her at the stake.

But thinking of her kiss with Harry still made Pansy lose her concentration.

_It was just a whim,_ she told herself angrily, _just a little… hello, what's this…?_

She frowned as she spied a tiny, dancing light at the far end of one of the narrow hallways. Glancing around, she noticed that the floors were rather dusty in this part of the castle, and there were not any other students around. Pulling out her wand, and telling herself over and over that curiosity is what killed the cat, Pansy went to investigate.

"Peeves?" she called tentatively, raising her wand to eye-level, "is that you?"

The light quivered, retreating down the hallway towards an open door as Pansy slowly pursued.

_Will o' the Wisp,_ she thought, squinting in the relative darkness of the hallway as she recalled one of her Care of Magical Creatures classes. _How did it get in, though? I thought the castle was supposed to be secure against intruders. There was that troll during first year… but someone let that in. Why would someone let in a Will o' the Wisp?_

She tried to think of all she knew of the little sprit-like creatures, reminding herself that they tended to lead people into dangerous situations, but that they themselves were not inherently harmful. Her instincts screaming 'trap,' the Slyterhin girl advanced down the hallway.

Abruptly, the light dipped through the door at the end of the hallway.

"Probably shouldn't," Pansy told herself, thrilling slightly to the unknown, "but if I go to get a teacher, it could sneak out and we'd never find it."

Satisfied with her conclusion, Pansy continued down the hallway, too caught up in pursuing the sprite to notice that the dust on the floor had been smoothed out as if by a wide piece of cloth… or a passing cloak.

Stepping into the room, Pansy found the Will o' the Wisp dancing gaily in one corner.

She took a look around, finding the room empty, and focused her attention on the mischievous spirit. "This is the best you can do?" she asked, arching an eyebrow as she advanced on the tiny spot of light. "Not much of a trap, now is-"

Her reactions were good – a fact she had always been proud of… so when the Will o' the Wisp suddenly vanished, Pansy immediately whirled around, rescanning the room and finding – much to her chagrin – that there was, in fact, someone else in there with her, stepping out of the shadows with wand raised.

"_Def-_"

"_Petrificus__ Partialus!_"

Pansy gasped as what felt like an invisible blanket of warm oatmeal wrapped around her, making her movements sluggish and languid. "What did you do to me?" she demanded, trying to look cool as Hermione Granger stepped closer to her and pulled the wand out of her unresponsive hand.

"Partial body-bind," Hermione replied levelly. "Something from my own grimoire. Oh, it's really nothing more than a modification to an existing spell, but I like to think of it as my own. Now… about that spell you put on Harry at the start of the term."

"Go to Hell!"

Hermione clucked her tongue. "Tsk, don't let's get feisty… I've got you dead to rights, Parkinson, I could do anything I wanted to you."

Pansy grinned unpleasantly. "You won't, though," she said confidently. "I know your kind, Granger – you wouldn't hurt me because you're afraid to get your hands dirty. You're just the same as all the other… what are you doing…?"

"Nothing," Hermione murmured, continuing to draw a circle in the dust around Pansy's feet with her fingertip, "keep talking… I think you were about to say how I'm the same as all the other Gryffindors, and how I would never deliberately hurt someone I didn't like because it would reduce me to their level, or some nonsense like that." She looked up as she completed the circle. "But I'll tell you something, Parkinson," she whispered, studying the other girl's eyes intently, "Harry's special to me. He's been my friend for six years now, helped me in ways you can't possibly imagine, been there when I thought I would go mad from all the work piled on me. I care for him very much, Parkinson, and I don't consider rules to apply to me when it comes to protecting my friends."

Doubt niggled at Pansy's stomach as Hermione rose to her feet and laced her fingers together, twisting them outward and cracking the knuckles loudly.

"Now then," the Gryffindor said quietly, "it's nice and quiet here, and I've charmed the door to keep sound from traveling outside… so feel free to be as loud as you wa-"

"You're bluffing," Pansy cut in sharply, "you'll be expelled!"

Hermione's smile was razor thin.

"Only if they find you."

As Hermione raised her wand, her lips already forming a curse, Pansy's calm broke. "It was a fake!"

Hermione paused, eyeing the fidgeting Slytherin closely.

"What do you mean?"

"It was an illusory charm," Pansy explained through gritted teeth, glaring daggers at Hermione as she continued to struggle against the spell. "If Dumbledore found out I'd hexed his favorite student, what do you think would happen to me?"

Hermione felt like slapping her forehead. "Of course," she groaned, "I thought it was strange that you could carry it on your hand like that when it took me so long just to put it on paper."

Pansy snorted, her voice low with self-loathing as she muttered, "We can't all be Potters and Grangers… some of us have to rely on other means to get us by."

"That's why you're so good with potions," Hermione said with slowly dawning understanding, "and why you were so desperate to get Harry to help you learn defense against the dark arts… you're nearly a sq-"

"Don't say it!" Pansy snarled. "Don't you dare, you filthy little mudblood! So I'm not the strongest, so what? I was still good enough to get in here and make it five years – five _years_ – without anyone's help!" In spite of the curse on her, Pansy's body was shaking with rage as she hissed, "You have no idea what I've been through, Granger… you never will! You and Potter deserve each-"

Hermione slowly raised her wand, cutting the girl off in a moment.

"_Petrificus__ denen."_

Pansy staggered forward as the curse was lifted from her body. "Give me my wand," she demanded, pretending she could not feel the sheen of sweat on her flushed face. "_Give_ _it!_"

Hermione backed towards the door, shaking her head slowly. "I think I'll leave it right here," she said carefully. "You can get it after I'm gone."

"Coward," Pansy snarled. "You're pretty brave when you're facing a paralyzed, unarmed opponent, Granger."

"Cowardice has nothing to do with it," Hermione returned coolly, "I just know the difference between an opponent in possession of all of her facilities… and one who is not."

Pansy's nostrils flared as the Gryffindor reached back to open the door, never taking her eyes of off the Slytherin. "I think 'watch your back' goes without saying," she whispered, managing to get herself at least partially under control. "This isn't over, Granger."

Nodding, Hermione pulled the door open. "I know," she said quietly, "and before I go, I should tell you…"

She stepped through the door, crouching for a moment to lay Pansy's wand just inside its boundary.

"…I'm the one who let Harry know about the rumor that you were sleeping around."

Regardless of her lack of weaponry, Pansy lunged at the girl, slamming into the door as it was hauled closed. "Bitch," she panted, stooping down to yank her wand up off the floor, "I'll kill you for this, Granger!"

She yanked the door open, a thousand curses flying to her lips as she raised her wand… and found the hallway empty.

Pansy's lips pulled back from her teeth as she scanned the narrow enclosure. _She couldn't have gotten away that fast,_ she thought, sweeping her wand from left to right, _and she can't apperate inside the school… she HAS to be here somewhere!_

She stepped into the hallway, moving cautiously, ready for anything… but she nearly screamed out loud as something unseen brushed past her, slipping into the room she had just exited and swinging the door shut with a loud bang.

"Granger!"

Whirling around, Pansy seized the doorknob, but a solid click told her that it had been locked from the other side.

She took a deep breath, trying unsuccessfully to calm herself.

"You can't stay in there forever," she said flatly, pressing her cheek up against the door and closing her eyes as she imagined the other girl doing the same on the other side. "I may not be able to take you in a standup fight, Granger," she continued quietly, "but you better believe that I will not rest until you've paid for what you've done. Remember that."

Hermione's voice, muffled by the thick wood between them, replied, "Don't worry… I will…"

Giving the door a sullen pound, Pansy turned on her heel and strode down the hallway. She considered lying in wait for the other girl, or setting a trap… but it was getting late, and Filtch was bound to be prowling the halls soon – and any trap she laid could be set off by anyone wandering by, or possibly spotted by Granger before she tripped it.

No, she had lost this round… but as she had promised, she would not forget.

( 0 0 0 )

By the time she got near the entrance to the dungeons, Pansy was starting to calm down a bit… but it was there, less than ten feet from the door, that Harry appeared seemingly out of nowhere, grabbing her firmly by the wrist and yanking her into a side corridor before she could protest.

"We need to talk."

"Let go!" Pansy grunted, trying to break his hold as he led her to a dark, secluded corner.

"No," Harry growled, "not until you listen to me!"

Pansy stopped struggling, her eyes flashing as she spat, "The Sorting Hat was right – you _would_ make a good Slytherin!"

Pursing his lips, Harry leaned in close to her, his eyes never leaving hers as he whispered, "And you would have made a good Gryffindor."

"You don't know anything," Pansy retorted, letting her arms hang limply at her sides as he finally released her. "You don't know anything at all… about me, about Slytherin – nothing!"

"Then why don't you tell me?"

Pansy eyed Harry suspiciously as he slipped his wand into his robes, holding his empty hands out for her to inspect.

"Tell me about yourself," he said quietly, "if I don't know – if I'm so stupid about everything… then help me. Help me understand. I _want_ to understand you."

Her eyes flat and hard, Pansy moved her face inches from his. "Go to Hell, Potter," she said coldly, "you don't care about anything but yourself! How was the final, hmm?" Her voice dropped to a furious whisper. "Professor Snape should have had you test the potion _personally!_"

As she tried to step past him, Harry slipped his hand into hers, squeezing it gently. "Don't go…"

Pansy's free hand whipped around so fast that Harry never even saw it coming, the force of the impact knocking him back against the wall… though he still held her tightly. "You make me sick!" she snarled, "Let go of me right now or I'll… I'll…"

She trailed off as Harry reached into his robes and pulled out his wand, offering it to her with an unreadable expression. "Whatever you're going to do," he said, making her shiver as she recalled the afternoon of their first kiss, "you'd better do it now…"

"Fine then!" she snapped, tearing the wand from his hand and pointing it at his forehead. "_Aveada__…_ _Aveada__… Ka…"_ Gritting her teeth, Pansy tightened her hold on the wand. "_Cru…Cruci…_ _Damn IT!"_

Harry made no move to stop her as she planted her hand in the middle of his chest and shoved him back against the wall hard enough to shake a fine grit of mortar down over them.

"…damn it," she nearly sobbed, "I want to hurt you so bad!"

Nodding… miserable… Harry simply replied, "Yeah…"

Tentatively, he pulled on her hand, drawing her up against his chest and wrapping his arms around her as she trembled.

"I hate you," she sniffed, burying her face in the front of his robes, "I really, really hate you, Harry…"

"I know," Harry said softly. "I don't… like myself that much right now…"

"It wasn't supposed to be this way," Pansy whispered, her voice choked with suppressed tears, "I gave you blood, Harry – Heartblood… that should have meant something…"

With a deep, shuddering sigh, Harry murmured, "I know."

For several minutes, they simply stood in silence, with Pansy leaning weakly against Harry's chest and trying to stop the soft, miserable sobs that kept trying to work their way free from her throat. He wanted to tell her that it was ok to cut loose and cry – but from the little he knew of the members of Slytherin House, he was not sure if it would somehow hurt her status with them if it ever got out that she broke down.

For all he knew, they lost house points for crying.

_I really DON'T know anything,_ he thought disgustedly.

"…let me go."

Reluctantly, Harry loosened his grip, bowing his head as she stepped away from him.

"Here's your wand," she said, her voice flat and hollow as she thrust the item into his hands.

"Pansy?"

"What?"

Harry raised his head, meeting her eyes head on as he reached out and put his hands on her cheeks. "I gave you mine too," he said bluntly.

Unable to turn her head, Pansy averted her eyes. "I wish-" cutting herself off, she took a careful step back, out of Harry's range. Slowly, she brought her eyes up to look into his, lifting her chin slightly as she whispered, "I wish you had actually believed in me, Harry…"

His face betraying the hurt and confusion he was feeling, Harry watched her walk out the door, his final thought echoing dull and flat in the now-empty room as the door swung shut.

"…I tried."

( 0 0 0 )

"Ohhhhhh MAN! I can't believe it's over!"

Harry grinned as Ron reclined in one of the chairs in the Gryffindor common room. "Last day, Ron," he pointed out, "they're gonna lock the place up whether you believe it or not."

Ron shot him a dirty look. "'Bout time you got back to being normal," he said grouchily, "you've been impossible for the past week!"

"Yeah, sorry about that," Harry replied, giving Hermione a significant look as the girl rearranged Crookshanks on her lap. "Just… had something on my mind."

"Not more bad dreams or anything," Ron asked, suddenly concerned.

Harry shook his head, his gaze locking with Hermione's as she shook her head faintly from side to side. "No," he lied smoothly, "just… missing someone, that's all."

"Oh," the redheaded boy nodded, wisely choosing not to press the issue, "well, you _are_ coming to the Borough this summer, right? Last year was so _boring_ with everyone worrying about you-know-who."

"We still have to worry about Voldemort – oh stop it, Ron – you know," Hermione said, casting Ron an irritated glare as he winced. "'Fear of a name-"

"'-creates fear of the thing itself,'" Ron cut in, rolling his eyes.

"Honestly," Hermione huffed. "Why you would _want_ to spend the summer with him is beyond me!"

Harry excused himself, slipping out of the portal as the two began to argue in earnest. The entry hall was sparsely filled with students who had already packed and were waiting to go home. Harry could not relate to them – going home for him was more an exercise in frustration and barely contained rage. He understood the _why _of staying on number 4 Privet Drive, but he also knew that the Muggle world was definitely _not_ his.

_I wonder how she is,_ he thought, wandering to the great doors at the front of the castle and looking out at the Forbidden Forest. _Hermione said that Ginny saw her a couple days back, laughing with some of the other Slytherins, so I guess she's ok. I just wish…_

He let the thought go, reminding himself that wishes rarely come true – at least without magical intervention.

"Oi, Potter!"

Harry grimaced, slowly turning around. "Malfoy," he said grimly, staring into the other boy's pale blue eyes.

"Thought I'd forgot, did you?" Malfoy whispered, advancing on Harry with what looked like half of Slytherin House behind him, pushing students from other houses out of the way as they came and systematically cutting him off. "Thought I'd just let you get away with what happened last year?"

Without hesitation, Harry pulled out his wand, but he froze as Pansy materialized out of the crowd, her face grim and set as she slipped something into Malfoy's hand.

"Fifteen seconds, Potter," Malfoy whispered flatly, glancing around the hall for signs that any of the teachers might be nearby. "Fifteen seconds…"

Harry frowned. "Fifteen-"

He gasped as Malfoy stepped forward, whipping his arm around, and he barely had time to shout '_Protego__!'_ …but instead of a wand, Malfoy produced a small vial, the contents of which sailed easily past Harry's reflection spell to splash all over the front of his robes, soaking to the skin in an instant.

_Fifteen seconds,_ Harry thought with sudden, sharp clarity, _Elixir of Osiris – I've got fifteen seconds to live!_

He looked around wildly, but there was nowhere to run – the Slytherins had subtly cut off every possible escape route. "Funny, isn't it?" Malfoy drawled softly, folding his arms, "they all think it's the Draught of Living Death." He grinned wickedly. "They'll all watch you die, never even knowing what they're seeing."

Harry's eyes shifted to Pansy's, locking on them as she tilted her head to the side. "I'm sorry," he whispered, knowing that they would be his last words.

"Me too," Pansy whispered, a trace of a smile lighting her face as she added, "but not as sorry as him."

Malfoy's brow drew down. "What are you talk-"

Harry gasped as Pansy flicked her wrist, her wand dropping into her palm and pointing discreetly at Malfoy's back even as the boy started to turn her way… and though her voice was pitched too low to hear, Harry could still read her lips as she softly whispered, "_Crucio__."_

Pandemonium erupted in the great hall as Malfoy let out a shriek of agony, his back arching nearly to the breaking point as every nerve in his spine reported excruciating pain directly to his brain. Screams echoed from every corner of the hall as students scattered, some bringing their wands to bear, scanning the crowed for the unseen foe, some simply breaking for the cover of the nearest room as Malfoy's cries echoed throughout the room.

Still standing by the doors, Harry could not pull his eyes away from Pansy's. _Time…_ he thought with a sudden start, _it's… my time's up!_

"Don't tell me it took you this long," Pansy whispered, stealing a look around the room before stowing her wand in her sleeve.

"Y-you," Harry breathed, touching the wet spot on the front of his robes. "Did you…?"

Pansy nodded. "Only three of us knew," she said quietly, "Malfoy, me, and Crabbe – he wouldn't even trust Goyle with it. It was simple, really, when we… had our argument, he saw me coming back to the common room. He offered me revenge, Harry – and I agreed."

"Then why-"

"I don't know," Pansy interrupted, shaking her head as the last few doors slammed, leaving them – for the moment – alone in the great hall. "The plan was to sneak into Snape's office and steal one of the Elixirs. Well, Crabbe was too stupid, so I volunteered… and when I was there, I just… I just grabbed my own potion." She lowered her eyes. "Malfoy had no idea whose blood was in it, of course," she whispered, staring at the unconscious boy, "and do you know what? I don't even know why…"

Harry did not know what to say.

Pansy had saved his life… and neither of them knew why.

In short order, the doors were thrown open once more, and the teachers entered the great hall, eyes flying everywhere as their wands sought out any intruders.

Harry and Pansy simple stared at the floor between them.

To Be Concluded…

Author's notes: it's perfectly reasonable to expect that magi would come up with their own spells, and as Hermione is the smartest student in Hogwarts, she'd be one of the first. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. Plus, I couldn't remember them ever mentioning a partial paralysis spell, so I had to come up with SOMETHING. Anyway – one more chapter to go.

SxStrngSamurai had some choice pre-reading comments on this chapter… but since I'm wholly evil, I erased them all! HAHA! Ok, actually what he said was that the chapter was ok, I just like blowing things out of proportion…

Feedback is always welcome on any site with reviewing capabilities, or by e-mailing me directly at random1377(at-sign)yahoo(dot)com.


	9. Dreams and Waking

Disclaimer: see part 1.

Beautiful Poison

By Random1377

Chapter 9 – Dreams and Waking

Harry stood mutely as Professor Snape raged around Dumbledore's office, ranting that one of his best students had been assaulted and demanding to know why the headmaster was doing nothing about it. The Boy Who Lived barely heard Dumbledore's platitudes about having the other teachers searching the school as he stared at Pansy's profile, wondering what the outcome of this would be… knowing what it _must_ be.

_Expulsion,_ he thought sickly. _Someone is going home, and never coming back… and that someone has to be me…_

"Oh it's very serious indeed, Professor Snape," Dumbledore was saying, his eyes never leaving Harry's face as the potions master finally wound down, "someone has used one of the Unforgivable Curses on one of my students – in the front hall itself, no less… there will be at least one expulsion today, I am sure."

Harry's stomach did a lazy summersault.

"Of course," Snape said, inclining his head slightly. "If it is any use at all to you, Headmaster, I have eyewitness accounts from several members of my own house that say Potter is the one that cast the curse."

Dumbledore steepled his fingers. "Indeed?" he said calmly. "Because I have heard reports from every other house – and some Slytherins – saying that all Harry had time to do was cast a reflection spell before Mister Malfoy doused him with Elixir of Osiris."

Snape sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes snapping to the wetness on Harry's chest. "Impossible, Headmaster," he said softly, "he would have been dead long before now if that were the case."

Straightening his back, Harry defiantly recited, "'Note that whosoever giveth freely of the blood of the heart shall be untouched by the elixir's cold fingers.'" He turned his attention to Dumbledore, speaking before Snape could reply. "It was me," he said smoothly, his heart thumping in his chest, "I cast the _Cruciatus_ on Malfoy."

"While you were covered in what you knew to be a fatal potion?" Dumbledore mused. "Cut off from every retreat, with the knowledge that your death was at hand… you still managed to summon the necessary ire and ill-will to send Mister Malfoy into the hospital wing?"

"He's… in the hospital wing?" Pansy whispered, breaking her silence for the first time since they had been brought to Dumbledore's office.

Snape folded his arms, narrowing his eyes as he regarded Harry. "Of course he is," he bit out, never looking away from the Gryffindor Seeker. "Madam Pomfry said the strength of the curse that hit him was equal to that of the Dark Lord himself." His dark eyes finally swung around to Pansy, making her shiver as they bored into her. "Only the most distilled, time-strengthened hate could have developed such a powerful blow… and only Mister Potter-"

"Severus," Dumbledore cut in softly, "I feel that it would be… unwise to throw accusations the likes of which you are prepared to throw without being one hundred percent certain of the facts… wouldn't you agree?"

"Of course, headmaster," Snape replied reluctantly.

The accusation of using one of the Unforgivable Curses was very close to a damning one in the wizarding world… and it was one that was not easily taken back.

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Is there… anything you'd like to add to this conversation, Miss Parkinson?"

Before Pansy could reply – not that she seemed on the verge of it – Harry stepped forward. "I said it was me, sir," he whispered, carefully drawing his wand and setting it on Dumbledore's desk. "I'll… pack my things."

"Potter," Snape muttered, "it is not a matter of packing your things. The _Cruciatus_ Curse is a crime punishable by imprisonment in Azkaban."

Harry nodded, swallowing with some difficulty. "Then… could you have my things sent to the Weasleys?" he asked, his voice trembling as he envisioned what the next few years of his life would be like. "They can… use them while I'm gone."

Snape and Dumbledore exchanged glances, and to Harry's surprise, Snape averted his eyes, shaking his head minutely as if in reply to an unspoken question.

"Harry," Dumbledore murmured, "no one here – Professor Snape included – believes you capable of the depth of hatred required to inflict the level of damage Mister Malfoy endured…"

"But it was me!" Harry said wildly, taking a discrete step to the side so he was blocking Pansy from Dumbledore's line of sight. "He… he threw the elixir on me, and I… I just cast the first curse I could think of!"

Dumbledore and Snape exchanged another glance, and this time, Snape ground his teeth, his nostrils flaring as he swept his cape around his wiry frame. "Well," he said icily, "since you have matters in hand here, I will excuse myself."

"Severus…"

Snape's lips parted in an angry snarl. "Yes, headmaster," he hissed, "Mister Malfoy will be made aware of his situation as soon as he regains consciousness."

As Snape made his exit, Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, sighing loudly as he stared up at the ceiling. "I do so dislike these sticky situations," he said breezily, acting as if he was pondering what punishment to dole out for tipping over a bucket of water or loosening a floorboard. "Miss Parkinson," he said after a moment of quiet, "would you like to say anything right now? Anything at all?"

Pansy stared at her feet. "I… think I shouldn't, Headmaster," she said politely, "I don't think anything I could say would come out right."

"Ahh."

Dumbledore toyed with a small globe on his desk.

"Then if you have nothing to say," he murmured, "I think I shall enlighten you on a few things."

"Yes, Headmaster," Pansy whispered, clearly steeling herself for the worst.

"It seems your friend Miss Bolstrode has had some concerns about your wellbeing," Dumbledore said calmly, his eyes flicking to Harry's for a moment before returning to Pansy. "She and several of your housemates came to see me shortly before you were brought here, and with the exception of two, they all said that you and Harry have been… studying together."

"How did they kn-" Pansy cut herself off, clearing her throat before continuing, "Why would they think that?"

Dumbledore's eyes crinkled at the corners. "Well I know that Miss Sanderson, for one, was following you on several occasions," he said, clearly amused, "it seems that there was a… consensus among the members of your house that you and Mister Malfoy were engaged in some kind of plot to harm Harry, and believe it or not… some of them were worried that you might be hurt."

Harry's jaw dropped. "They… huh?"

"Yes, Harry," Dumbledore said mildly, "they were concerned that your feud with Draco would draw Miss Parkinson in, resulting in her expulsion… or worse." His lips compressed slightly. "Gryffindor House does not hold exclusive rights to the concepts of friendship and loyalty."

It was a mild rebuke, but very effective.

"Of… of course," Harry whispered, going crimson, "of course."

"If one of my students actually used one of the Unforgivable Curses on another, however, I would have no choice but to expel them and report them to the ministry," Dumbledore observed, his voice heavy and serious. "It is quite a serious crime in our world, Harry, and not to be taken lightly." His eyes slipped to Pansy's as he concluded, "I am sure, however, that there are certain… pressures a student might face that could, conceivably, create the kind of mental strain that would lead him or her to resort to desperate measures to ensure their own safety. Wouldn't you agree, Miss Parkinson?"

Pansy lowered her eyes, her usually brash attitude conspicuously absent as she murmured, "Yes, Headmaster."

"Harry," Dumbledore said calmly, "do you agree that a student caught purposely inflicting harm on another should face immediate punishment?"

Harry opened his mouth to say, 'but it was me!' again, but closed it as he caught the glint in the headmaster's eye. "I suppose it would… depend on the circumstances, sir," he said carefully. "Danger to a person's… wellbeing can often cloud that person's judgment, making them do things they would _not_ do under _normal_ circumstances. Sir."

Dumbledore looked pleased. "Well spoken," he said, inclining his head in a minute bow. "So to further clarify your observation, we could say that one of the so-called Unforgivable Curses could be deemed forgivable – if the wizard or witch in question was not in possession of all of his or her facilities at the time, and if he or she understood that a repeat casting of the curse would bring _swift_ retribution… correct?"

"I… yes, that is exactly how I feel."

"Excellent," Dumbledore said briskly, "so long as we are clear… you are excused."

Harry bowed. "Thank you, sir," he said formally, unable to keep the gratitude from his voice as he ushered Pansy from the headmaster's office.

They had made it less than ten feet from the gargoyle statue that guarded Dumbledore's office before Pansy came up short and demanded, "What just happened?"

Glancing around to make sure no one was around, Harry whispered, "We're ok – he's not going to expel you."

"Yes," Pansy huffed, "I know _that_ – I'm not stupid, you know… I meant what happened with you trying to take the blame? I don't need your help, Potter!"

Harry looked stunned. "I couldn't just stand there, could I?" he blurted, taking another uneasy look around. "We're… friends – so I had to say something!" His voice lowered to a quiet whisper. "And besides… Dumbledore knows I've used the _Cruciatus_ Curse before, so I thought if I could convince him that it was me, you would be ok."

They fell silent for a moment as Pansy digested this information, studying the hem of her robes with exaggerated care. "No one's… ever done anything like that for me before," she said finally.

Harry shrugged, clearly embarrassed. "I was… it was my fault anyway, so…"

Silence fell as the two teens regarded each other for a moment. "Harry," Pansy said finally, leaning back against the wall and resting the back of her head against its cool surface, "what happens now?"

"Well," Harry said slowly, "the term's over… I guess we go home and-"

"With us," Pansy cut in quietly, staring up at the ceiling and carefully avoiding his gaze. "What happens between you and me?" When the young man hesitated, she added, "_Are_ we friends, Harry…?"

Harry shuffled his feet. "Do you want to be…?"

"No."

Pansy brought her eyes down, gazing levelly at Harry as his shoulders slumped.

"I want to be something else."

"What, er, what do you mean?"

"Don't know, really," Pansy said honestly, slowly shaking her head from side to side. "I just… 'friends' doesn't seem like a good word for us."

"Huh," Harry said thoughtfully, "well, umm, then I don't know what happens now."

Pansy nodded, looking back up to the ceiling. "D'you think he'll be expelled? Draco, I mean."

"Yeah, I reckon he will," Harry replied, finding that he just could not feel sorry about this fact.

_He won't forget, either, _he mused. _If he tells them that Pansy cast the Cruciatus on him, things could get sticky, with or without Dumbledore on our side… but then again, that's if he saw it – he wasn't looking her way when she cast it, so maybe he doesn't know it was her. I guess no matter how it goes, Malfoy won't forget this… and we'll always have to watch for him to come looking for revenge on SOMEONE. _

Realizing that a rather heavy silence had fallen since the mention of Malfoy's name, Harry leaned against the wall opposite Pansy, folding his arms and whispering, "Do you want to talk about it?"

"About Draco?" Pansy asked, closing her eyes. "No, not really… but I'll tell you a couple things, because of what you did for me." She drew a deep, steadying breath. "Draco and I… _did_ have something going for a while."

When she said nothing more, Harry stammered, "O-oh…"

Pansy let the silence fall once more, debating just how much to tell the Gryffindor. Finally, she opened her mouth and just flew on autopilot. "We did things… I didn't really want to do," she said softly, keeping her eyes closed so she would not have to see his reaction. "He never made me do… _that_ – obviously, since your potion worked – but we did… other things. Things that made me feel… dirty." Wrapping her hand around her suddenly chilled arms, she concluded, "I kept seeing all these magazine articles that said you shouldn't feel guilty if someone makes you do something you don't want to do, because they're the ones in the wrong for forcing you… but if I never said no, or really _tried_ to stop it…"

Harry nodded, staring down at the floor as he remembered how it felt when the _Imperious_ Curse first took hold – that helpless feeling of knowing you should not be doing what you are told, but being unable to stop. He realized that it was not truly a fair comparison, but he could not think of anything in his own experience that was remotely the same.

"So that's why you hated him."

"That's right," Pansy said flatly, her eyes glinting as she brought her attention to his face. "The _Cruciatus_ only works if you mean it – we learned that in our second year… I meant to hurt him, Harry, but do you know something?" She broke eye contact. "It didn't make me feel like I thought it would. I thought seeing him in pain would make that little hollow feeling in my chest go away, but it just made it worse."

Again, Harry nodded. "It never does, really," he said quietly, "every time I do something that ends up hurting someone I don't like… well, I… I _do_ feel _satisfied_ for a second… but then I just end up feeling bad about it later – usually only a couple _minutes_ later."

Pansy wiped her eyes with her thumb and forefinger. "You know something Harry?" she said softly, offering him a small smile. "I was wrong… you wouldn't have done that well in Slytherin."

"Thanks," Harry chuckled, his smile fading as soon as it materialized. "But if I was in Slytherin I know I would have had at least _one_ friend…"

Pushing herself away from the wall, Pansy crossed the corridor, coming to stand in front of Harry. "I'm not your friend," she whispered seriously.

Harry looked into her eyes unflinchingly. "No," he replied calmly, "I guess you're not."

Neither of them would later remember who moved first. All they knew was that the echo of the word 'not' was still in the air when their lips collided, forcing Harry's back up against the wall as Pansy wrapped her fingers forcefully in his hair, ensuring that he would not be escaping her as he did on their first kiss. Harry, of course, was not planning to go anywhere, and did his best to keep up with the explosion of passion flooding from the girl's hungry lips, hooking his right arm around her slim waist and pulling her body up against his.

Pansy growled – quite literally – to show her appreciation of this move, parting her lips and pulling backward on Harry's hair, making him gasp and arch his neck to stop the pain. Moving quickly, Pansy's lips closed around his exposed throat, licking and sucking aggressively as her hands finally released him, moving down to his back and yanking him closer.

After several moments of this, she pulled away, leaving a large spot of saliva on his neck as she tried to catch her breath. "I want… to see you… this summer…"

Harry was entirely dumbfounded by this seemingly random comment. "I, er, live with muggles," he said lamely.

"Then come to my house," Pansy countered immediately, leaning forward and kissing his already-bruising throat with far more gentleness than she had ever exhibited before. "I want to have you all to myself," she said quietly, slipping her hand into his. "You said you wanted to know me – well, the only way that's going to happen is if we're away from this place… where I can think… where no one can see us and spread rumors…" she lowered her voice to a whisper. "Where I can figure out what, exactly, we are."

"I'd… I'd like that," Harry murmured, mildly surprised to find that he really would.

Slowly, Pansy put her hands behind his head, pulling his lips down to hers and giving him a deep, intensely open kiss. "Promise me," she breathed as they parted, "promise that you'll see me this summer, Harry."

Though he knew he was supposed to stay at the Dursleys' house to avoid attracting Lord Voldemort's attention, Harry nodded without a second thought. "I promise," he said solemnly. "Somehow, we'll get together this summer."

Pansy nodded, her shoulders slumping suddenly as she whispered, "I'm tired, Harry. I didn't sleep last night because I was thinking of what Malfoy was going to do, and if I should stop it or not."

"I'm glad you did!" Harry exclaimed, drawing a weak laugh from her. "Well," he said slowly, "I… if you don't want to go back to your dor-"

"I don't," Pansy cut in immediately.

"…you can come to mine."

Pansy averted her eyes. "I doubt your friends would welcome me," she pointed out.

"If you're with me, they won't stop you," Harry said calmly.

"You have _no_ idea what kind of rumors you're about to start, do you?" Pansy asked wonderingly.

Harry shrugged. "I don't… really care that much, honestly," he said slowly, "I mean – people have been staring at me and making up rumors about me for six years. I'm kind of used to it."

Shaking her head, Pansy said, "This is going to make it much worse than you could imagine – trust me… but if you're sure, then lead the way."

( 0 0 0 )

Ron and the rest of Harry's dorm mates were busily packing as the Boy Who Lived appeared at the top of the stairs.

"Hey guys," he called softly, drawing their attention.

"What happened to your neck, mate?" Ron exclaimed, glancing up from stuffing sweaters into his trunk. "It looks like-"

He cut himself off as Pansy followed Harry up the stairs.

"Oi Harry," Dean Thomas said carefully, his eyes slipping to Pansy's as his hand slowly moved to cover his wand. "Friend of yours?"

Pansy's nostrils flared, and before she could stop herself, she was opening her mouth to say, "You'd better watch-"

"Yeah, actually," Harry cut in quickly, "she is."

The tension in the air was so thick that Pansy felt like she could reach out and touch it, but she could see from the looks all around her that anger would get her nowhere, so she swallowed her pride and murmured, "Harry said I could stay here for a few hours until the train leaves… I didn't mean to be rude."

"Well," the Weasley boy said finally, "any friend of Harry's, and all that…"

Though she doubted the sincerity of this notion, Pansy noticed that it had the desired effect. The other boys – though grumbling the whole while – went back to packing their things and lounging around, doing their best to avoid giving her dirty looks… or at least, giving her dirty looks while she could see.

"Thanks Ron," Harry murmured as he pulled back the canopy on his bed and gestured for her to lie down. "I owe you one."

As the curtain was drawn, Pansy could hear the boy named Ron hiss, "You owe me a lot more than one, mate! Have you gone _mad?_ She's a Slytherin! Bringing Luna or Cho or Parvati up here is one thing, but-"

"Keep your voice down!" Harry cut in. "Just because she's in another house doesn't mean she's deaf!"

"Oh, right, sorry," Ron muttered, sounding embarrassed, "but really – this isn't good, Harry! Why did you bring her here? Why are you with her at all? McGonagall said all students were supposed to stay in their houses until they figured out who attacked Malfoy, didn't she? And she's a Slyth-"

"I know what house she's in!" Harry cut in sharply. "You don't have to keep saying it!"

"Weasley's right, Potter," one of the other boys piped up, "if you want us to trust you, you have to trust us first."

Pansy heard Harry sigh. "Alright," he said reluctantly, "you see, the day we got here…"

Closing her eyes, Pansy listened to Harry's version of the school year. Or rather, she listened to precisely three minutes of it before falling deeply asleep. She dreamt that summer was already upon them, and Harry had come to visit her as he'd promised. They were in her room, doing the kinds of things all the Witch Weekly magazines said you do when you meet 'the wizard of your dreams' and pretending that they hadn't a care in the world.

It was, she would decide upon waking, one hell of a nice dream.

…now if only she could find a way to make it more.

The End

Author's notes: I finished this chapter before I finished chapter 8, and it ended up shorter. Sad, isn't it? Well, it's finally done, and barely in time to say 'Hey, I didn't know _that_ would happen in book six!' I may do another Potter fic at some point in the future, but I think I'll wait until I've read HBP, so it'll be a few months at least.

Hope you enjoyed this one, though.

SxStrngSamurai read this last chapter for me to make sure it wasn't god-awful. I THINK he said it wasn't, but I can't remember. Curse you, old age!

Feedback is always welcome on any site with reviewing capabilities, or by e-mailing me directly at random1377(at-sign)yahoo(dot)com.


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